THE  ETHEL  CARR  PEACOCK 
MEMORIAL  COLLECTION 

Matris  amori  monumentum 


TRINITY  COLLEGE  LIBRARY 


DURHAM,  N.  C. 

1903 

Gift  of  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Dred  Peacock 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2017  with  funding  from 
Duke  University  Libraries 


https://archive.org/details/lesmisrables41hugo 


LIBRARY  EDITION. 


Part  Fourth. 

THE  IDYLL  AND  THE  EPIC. 


‘ One  morning  when  the  sun  was  shining,  and  both  were 
on  the  garden  steps.  " 

Les  Mislrabies,  IV  Frontispiece 


13 


LES  MISERABLES. 


By  victor  HUGO. 


Part  Fourth. 

•THE  IDYLL  AND  THE  EPIC. 


a54-iS 

BOSTON: 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY. 
1893- 


Copyright,  18S7, 

By  Little,  Brown,  and  Company 


University  Press: 

John  \Vilson  and  Son,  Cambridge. 


TABLE  OF  CONTEXTS, 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL  AND  THE 
RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


15oo!v  I. 

SOME  PAGES  OF  HISTORY. 

Chapter  Page 

I.  Well  Cut  Oct 1 

II.  Badlt  Stitched 9 

III.  Louis  Philippe 14 

IV.  Cracks  ix  the  Eouxdatiox 25 

y.  Facts  from  which  History  is  Derived  but 

WHICH  History  Ignores 35 

■ VI.  Enjolras  and  his  Lieutenants 50 

Book  II. 

E PO  NINE. 

I.  The  Lark’s  Field 57 

II.  Crimes  in  Embryo  incubated  in  Prisons  . 65 

III.  Father  Mabceuf  has  an  Apparition  ...  71 

IV.  Marius  has  an  App.arition  .......  77 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


viii 

Boofe  IX. 

WHERE  ARE  THEY  GOING? 

Chapter  Page 

I.  Jean  A^aljean 329 

II.  Marius 332 

III.  M.  Mabceuf 336 

Booli  X. 

THE  FIFTH  OF  JUNE,  1832. 

1.  The  Surface  of  the  Question  ....  342 

II.  The  Bottom  of  the  Question 347 

III.  A Burial  gives  Opportunity  for  a Re- 

vival   3.56 

IV.  The  Ebullitions  of  Other  Days  . . . 364 

V.  Originality  of  Paris 372 

Boofe  XI. 

THE  ATOM  FRATERNIZES  AVITH  THE 
HURRICANE. 

I.  The  Origin  of  the  Poetry  of  Gavroche 
AND  the  Influence  of  an  Academician 
UPON  it 376 

II.  Gavroche  on  the  March 380 

III.  Just  Indignation  of  a Barber  ....  385 

lA’.  The  Child  astonishes  the  Old  Man  . . 388 

AL  The  Old  Man 391 

VI.  Recruits 394 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS.  ix 

Booh  XII. 

CORINTH. 

Chapter  Page 

I.  History  of  Corixth  froji  its  Foundation  397 

II.  Preliminary  Gayeties 405 

HI.  The  Night  begins  to  fall  on  Grantaire  419 

IV.  An  Endeavor  to  console  the  Widow 

Hdchelodp 424 

V.  Preparations 429 

VI.  Waiting 432 

VH.  The  Recruit  of  the  Rue  des  Billettes  436 

VHI.  Was  his  Name  Le  Cabuc  ? 441 

Booh  XIII. 

MARIUS  ENTERS  THE  SHADOW. 

I.  From  the  Rue  Plumet  to  the  Quartier 

St.  Denis 448 

H.  An  Owl’s-Eye  View  of  Paris 452 

HI.  The  Extreme  Brink 456 

Bnoit  XIV. 

THE  GRANDEUR  OF  DESPAIR. 

I.  The  Flag  : Act  First 465 

II.  The  Flag:  Act  Second 469 

HI.  Gavroche  had  better  have  accepted  the 

Carbine  of  En.iolras 473 

IV.  The  Barrel  of  Gunpowder 475 

V.  End  of  the  Verses  of  Jean  Prouvaire  . 479 

VI.  Death’s  Agony  after  Life's  Agony  . . 482 

VH.  Gavroche  calculates  Distances  . . . 489 


X 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


Book  XV. 

THE  RUE  HE  L’HOMME  ARME. 

CnAPTEK  Page 

I.  Blotting,  Blabbing 494 

II.  The  Gamin  the  Enemy  of  Lamps  . . . . 506 

III.  While  Cosette  and  Toussaint  Sleep  . . 512 

IV.  Gavroche’s  Excess  of  Zeal 515 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL 

AND 

THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


BOOK  I 

SOME  PAGES  OF  HISTORY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

WELL  CUT  OUT. 

1831  and  1832,  the  two  years  immediately  attached 
to  the  revolution  of  July,  contain  the  most  peculiar 
and  striking  moments  of  history ; and  these  two  years, 
amid  those  that  precede  and  follow  them,  stand  out 
like  mountains.  They  possess  the  true  revolutionary 
grandeur,  and  precipices  may  be  traced  in  them. 
The  social  masses,  the  foundations  of  ciwlization, 
the  solid  group  of  superimposed  and  adherent  in- 
terests, and  the  secular  profiles  of  the  ancient  Gal- 
lic formations,  appear  and  disappear  every  moment 
tlirough  the  stormy  clouds  of  systems,  passions,  and 
theories.  These  apparitions  and  disappearances  were 
called  resistance  and  movement,  but  at  intervals 
* truth,  the  daylight  of  the  human  soul,  flashes  through 
all 


VOL.  IV. 


1 


2 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


This  remra’kable  epoch  is  so  circumscribed,  aud  is 
beginning  to  become  so  remote  from  us,  that  we  are 
able  to  seize  its  principal  outlines.  We  will  make 
the  attempt.  The  Restoration  was  one  of  those  inter- 
mediate phases  which  are  so  difficult  to  define,  in 
which  are  fatigue,  buzzing,  murmurs,  sleep,  and 
tumult,  and  which,  after  all,  are  nought  but  the 
arrival  of  a great  nation  at  a halting-place.  These 
epochs  are  peculiar,  and  deceive  the  politician  Avho 
tries  to  take  advantage  of  them.  At  the  outset  the 
nation  only  demands  repose  ; there  is  but  one  thirst, 
for  peace,  and  only  one  ambition,  to  be  small, — 
which  is  the  translation  of  keeping  quiet.  “ Great 
events,  great  accidents,  great  adventures,  great  men, 
— 0 Lord ! we  have  had  enough  of  these,  and  more 
than  enough.”  Caesar  would  be  given  for  Prusias, 
and  Napoleon  for  the  Roi  d’Yvetot,  who  was  “ such 
a merry  little  king.”  Folk  have  been  marching  since 
daybreak  and  arrive  at  the  evening  of  a long  and 
rough  journey  ; they  made  their  first  halt  with  Mira- 
beau,  the  second  with  Robespierre,  and  the  third 
with  Napoleon,  and  they  are  exhausted.  Everybody 
insists  on  a bed. 

Worn-out  devotions,  crying  heroisms,  gorged  am- 
bitions, and  made  fortunes,  seek,  claim,  implore,  and 
solicit,  — what  ? A resting-place,  and  they  have  it. 
They  take  possession  of  peace,  tranquillity,  and  lei- 
sure, and  feel  satisfied.  Still,  at  the  same  time  certain 
facts  arise,  demand  recognition,  and  knock  at  doors 
on  their  side.  These  facts  have  emerged  from  revo- 
lutions and  wars  ; they  exist,  they  live,  and  have  the 
right,  — the  right  of  installing  themselves  in  society, 


WELL  CUT  OUT. 


3 


which  they  do;  and  in  the  majority  of  instances 
facts  are  the  quarter-masters  that  only  prepare  a 
billet  for  principles. 

In  such  a case,  this  is  what  occurs  to  political 
philosophers : at  the  same  time  as  wearied  men  claim 
rest,  accomplished  facts  demand  guarantees,  for  guar- 
antees for  facts  are  the  same  thing  as  repose  for  men. 
It  is  this  that  England  asked  of  the  Stuart  after  the 
Protector,  and  what  France  asked  of  the  Bourbons 
after  the  Empire.  These  guarantees  are  a necessity 
of  the  times,  and  they  must  be  granted.  The  Princes 
concede  them,  but  in  reality  it  is  the  force  of  things 
that  gives  them.  This  is  a profound  truth  and  worth 
knowing,  which  the  Stuarts  did  not  suspect  in  1662, 
and  of  which  the  Bourbons  did  not  even  gain  a 
glimpse  in  1814. 

The  predestined  family  which  returned  to  France 
when  Xapoleon  collapsed  had  the  fatal  simplicity  of 
belie^’ing  that  it  gave,  and  that  it  coidd  take  back 
what  it  had  once  given ; that  the  Bourbon  family 
possessed  the  right  dmne,  and  France  possessed 
nothing,  and  that  the  political  right  conceded  in  the 
. charter  of  Louis  XYIII.  was  nothing  else  but  a 
branch  of  the  dhdne  right,  detached  by  the  House 
of  Bourbon  and  graciously  permitted  to  the  people 
up  to  the  day  when  the  king  thought  proper  to 
clutch  it  again.  Still,  from  the  displeasure  which 
the  gift  caused  it,  the  Bourbon  family  ought  to  have 
felt  that  it  did  not  emanate  from  it.  It  behaved  in 
a grudging  way  to  the  l9th  century,  and  looked 
■with  an  ugly  smile  at  every  expansion  of  the  na- 
tion. To  employ  a trivial,  that  is  to  say,  a popular 


4 


THE  EUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


and  true  phrase,  it  was  crabbed,  and  the  people  no- 
ticed it. 

The  Government  believed  that  it  had  strength 
because  the  Empire  had  been  removed  before  it,  like 
a stage  scene ; but  it  did  not  perceive  that  it  had  been 
produced  in  the  same  way,  nor  see  that  it  was  held 
in  the  same  hand  which  had  removed  Napoleon. 
It  believed  that  it  had  roots,  because  it  was  the  past, 
and  was  mistaken : it  formed  a portion  of  the  past, 
but  the  whole  of  the  past  was  France ; and  the  roots 
of  French  society  were  not  in  the  Bourbons,  but  in 
the  nation.  These  obscure  and  tenacious  roots  did 
not  constitute  the  right  of  a family,  but  the  history 
of  a people,  and  were  everywhere,  except  under  the 
throne.  The  House  of  Bourbon  had  been  for  France 
the  illustrious  and  blood-stained  knot  of  her  history, 
but  was  no  longer  the  principal  element  of  her  des- 
tiny or  the  necessary  basis  of  her  policy.  She  could 
do  without  the  Bourbons  as  she  had  done  for  two- 
and-twenty  years  : there  was  a solution  of  continuity, 
but  they  did  not  suspect  it.  And  how  could  they 
suspect  it,  when  they  imagined  that  Louis  XVII. 
reigned  at  the  9th  Thermidor,  and  that  Louis  XVIII. 
was  reigning  at  the  day  of  hlarengo  ? Never,  since 
the  origin  of  history,  have  princes  been  so  blind  in 
the  presence  of  history  and  that  portion  of  the  divine 
authority  which  facts  contain  and  promulgate.  Never 
had  the  nether  claim,  which  is  called  the  right  of 
kings,  denied  to  such  a condition  the  supreme  right. 
It  was  a capital  error  that  led  this  family  to  lay  their 
hand  again  on  the  “granted”  guarantees  in  1814,  or 
on  the  concessions,  as  they  entitled  them.  It  is  a 


WELL  CUT  OUT. 


5 


sad  thing  that  what  they  called  their  concessions  were 
our  conquests,  and  what  they  called  our  encroach- 
ments were  our  rights.  When  the  hour  appeared  to 
have  arrived,  the  Restoration,  supposing  itself  vic- 
torious over  Bonaparte,  and  rooted  in  the  country, 
that  is  to  say,  believing  itself  strong  and  profound, 
suddenly  made  up  its  miud,  and  risked  its  stake. 
One  morning  it  rose  in  the  face  of  France,  and,  rais- 
ing its  voice,  contested  the  collective  title,  and  the 
indi\ddual  title,  the  sovereignty  of  the  nation,  and 
the  liberty  of  the  citizen.  In  other  terms,  it  denied 
the  nation  what  made  it  a nation,  and  the  citizen 
what  made  him  a citizen.  This  is  the  substratum  of 
those  famous  decrees  which  are  called  the  “ Ordoii- 
nances  ” of  July.  The  Restoration  fell,  and  fell  justly. 
Still,  let  us  add,  it  was  not  absolutely  hostile  to  all 
the  forms  of  progress,  and  grand  things  were  accom- 
plished while  it  stood  aloof.  During  the  Restoration 
the  nation  had  grown  accustomed  to  calm  discussion, 
which  the  Republic  had  been  deficient  in,  and  to 
grandeur  in  peace,  which  was  not  known  under  the 
Empire.  France,  strong  and  free,  had  been  an  en- 
couraging example  for  the  other  nations  of  Europe. 
Under  Robespierre  the  Revolution  ruled;  under  Bon- 
aparte, cannon;  while  in  the  reigns  of  Louis  XVIII. 
and  Charles  X.  the  turn  arrived  for  intellect  to  speak. 
The  wind  ceased,  and  the  torch  was  re-illumined, 
while  a pure  mental  light  played  round  the  serene 
crests.  It  was  a magnificent,  useful,  and  delightful 
spectacle  ; and  for  fifteen  years  those  great  principles, 
which  are  so  old  for  the  thinker,  so  new  for  the 
statesman,  — equality  before  the  law,  liberty  of  con- 


6 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


science,  freedom  of  the  press  and  speech,  and  the 
accessibility  of  all  fitting  men  to  office,  — could  be 
seen  at  work  in  a reign  of  peace,  and  publicly. 
Things  went  on  thus  till  1830,  and  the  Bourbons 
were  an  instrument  of  civilization  which  broke  in 
the  hands  of  Pro^ddence. 

The  fall  of  the  Bourbons  was  full  of  grandeur,  not 
on  their  side,  but  on  that  of  the  nation.  They  left 
the  throne  with  gravity,  but  without  authority  ; their 
descent  into  night  was  not  one  of  those  solemn  dis- 
appearances which  impart  a sombre  emotion  to  his- 
tory, and  it  was  neither  the  spectral  calmness  of 
Charles  I.  nor  the  eagle  cry  of  ISTapoleon.  They 
went  away,  that  was  all ; they  deposited  the  crown 
and  did  not  retain  the  glory,  and  though  they  were 
dignified,  they  were  not  august,  and  they  were  to 
a certain  extent  false  to  the  majesty  of  their  misfor- 
tune. Charles  X.,  haAung  a round  table  cut  square 
during  the  Cherbourg  voyage,  seemed  more  anxious 
about  the  imperilled  etiquette  than  the  crumbling 
monarchy.  This  diminution  saddened  the  devoted 
men  who  were  attached  to  the  Bourbons  personally, 
and  the  serious  men  who  honored  their  race.  The 
people  behaved  admirably,  however,  and  the  nation, 
attacked  one  morning  by  a species  of  royalist  insur- 
rection, felt  themselves  so  strong  that  they  displayed 
no  anger.  They  defended  themselves,  restrained 
themselves,  and  restored  things  to  their  place ; the 
government  in  the  law,  the  Bourbons  in  exile,  alas  ! 
and  stopped  there.  They  took  the  old  King  Charles 
X.  off  the  dais  which  had  sheltered  Louis  XIV.,  and 
gently  placed  him  on  the  ground,  and  they  only 


WELL  CUT  OUT. 


7 


touched  the  royal  persons  cautiously  and  sorrowfully. 
It  was  not  one  man,  or  a few  men,  but  France, 
united  France,  France  victorious,  and  intoxicated  by 
its  victory,  which  appeared  to  remember,  and  practised 
in  the  eyes  of  the  whole  world,  the  serious  remarks 
of  Guillaume  du  Vair  after  the  day  of  the  Barri- 
cades. “ It  is  easy  for  those  who  have  been  accus- 
tomed to  obtain  the  favors  of  the  great,  and  leap 
like  a bird  from  branch  to  branch,  from  a low  to  a 
flourishing  fortune,  to  show  themselves  bold  against 
tlieir  prince  in  his  misfortunes ; but  for  my  part  the 
fortune  of  my  kings  will  be  ever  venerable  to  me, 
and  principally  of  those  who  are  in  affliction.”  The 
Bourbons  bore  away  with  them  respect,  but  not 
regret ; as  we  have  said,  their  misfortune  was 
greater  than  themselves,  and  they  faded  away  on 
the  horizon. 

The  revolution  of  July  at  once  found  friends  and 
enemies  in  the  whole  world  ; the  former  rushed  to- 
ward it  enthusiastically  and  joyfully,  while  the  latter 
turned  away,  each  according  to  its  nature.  The 
princes  of  Europe,  the  owls  of  this  dawn,  at  the 
first  moment  closed  their  eyes,  which  were  hurt  and 
stupefied,  and  only  opened  them  again  to  menace,  — 
it  is  a terror  easy  to  understand  and  a pardonable 
anger.  This  strange  revolution  had  scarcely  required 
a blow,  and  had  not  even  done  conquered  royalty  the 
honor  of  treating  it  as  an  enemy  and  shedding  its 
blood.  In  the  sight  of  despotic  governments  which 
also  have  an  interest  in  liberty  calumniating  itself, 
the  revolution  of  July  had  the  fault  of  being  for- 
midable and  remaining  gentle,  but  no  attempt  was 


8 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


made  or  prepared  against  it.  The  most  dissatisfied 
and  irritated  persons  saluted  it ; for  -whatever  their 
selfishness  or  rancor  may  be,  men  feel  a mysterious 
respect  issue  from  events  in  which  they  feel  the  co- 
operation of  some  one  who  labors  higher  than  man. 
The  revolution  of  July  is  the  triumph  of  right 
overthrowing  fact,  and  is  a thing  full  of  splendor. 
Hence  came  the  brilliancy  of  the  revolution  of 
1830,  and  at  the  same  time  their  mildness,  for  right 
that  triumphs  has  no  need  to  be  violent.  Right  is 
justice  and  truth,  and  it  is  the  property  of  right  to 
remain  eternally  beautiful  and  pure.  Fact,  even  the 
most  necessary  in  appearance  and  best  accepted  by 
contemporaries,  if  it  only  exist  as  fact,  and  contain 
too  little  right,  is  no  right  at  all,  and  is  infallibly  des- 
tined to  become,  with  the  duration  of  time,  mis- 
shapen, foul,  and  perhaps  even  monstrous.  If  we 
wish  to  discover  at  one  glance  what  a degree  of 
ugliness  fact  can  attain,  when  looked  at  through  the 
distance  of  centuries,  let  us  regard  Machiavelli.  He 
is  not  an  evil  genius,  a demon,  or  a cowardly  and 
servile  writer : he  is  nothing  but  the  fact,  and  not 
merely  the  Italian  fact,  but  the  European  fact,  the 
fact  of  the  sixteenth  century.  He  appears  hideous, 
and  is  so  in  the  presence  of  the  moral  idea  of  the 
19th  century.  This  struggle  between  right  and  fact 
has  endured  since  the  origin  of  societies.  It  is  the 
task  of  wise  men  to  terminate  the  duel,  amalgamate 
the  pure  idea  with  human  reality,  and  to  make  right 
penetrate  fact  and  fact  right  pacifically. 


X 


CHAPTER  II. 

BADLY  STITCHED. 

But  the  task  of  wise  men  differs  greatly  from  that 
of  clever  men,  and  the  revolution  of  1830  quickly 
stopped  ; for  when  a revolution  has  run  ashore,  the 
clever  men  plunder  the  wreck.  Clever  men  in  our 
century  have  decreed  themselves  the  title  of  states- 
men, so  that  the  phrase  has  eventually  become  a bit 
of  slang.  For  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that  where 
there  is  only  cleverness,  littleness  necessarily  exists, 
and  to  say  “ the  clever  ” is  much  like  saying  the 
“ mediocrities.”  In  the  same  way  the  word  “ states- 
man ” is  often  equivalent  to  saying  “ traitor.”  If  we 
believe  clever  men,  then  revolutions  like  that  of  July 
are  severed  arteries,  and  a rapid  ligature  is  required. 
Right,  if  too  loudly  proclaimed,  threatens  a general 
overthrow.  Hence  the  right  once  secured,  the  gov- 
ernmeut  must  be  strengthened.  As  soon  as  liberty  is 
assured  we  must  turn  our  attention  to  power.  Here 
wise  men,  though  they  have  not  yet  separated  from 
clever  men,  begin  to  distrust  them.  Power,  very  good  ! 
But,  in  the  first  place,  wdiat  is  power ; and  secondly, 
whence  does  it  come  ? The  clever  men  do  not  appear 
to  hear  the  muttered  objection  and  continue  their  ma- 
noeuvres. According  to  politicians  who  ingeniously 


10 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


place  a mask  of  necessity  upon  profitable  fiction,  the 
first  want  of  a people  after  a revolution,  if  that 
people  form  part  of  a monarchical  continent,  is  to 
obtain  a dynasty.  In  this  way  they  say  peace  is 
secured  after  the  revolution,  that  is  to  say,  the  neces- 
sary time  for  repairing  the  house  and  dressing  the 
wounds.  A dynasty  hides  the  scaffolding  and  covers 
the  hospital.  Now,  it  is  not  always  easy  to  obtain 
a dynasty,  although  the  first  man  of  genius  or  the 
first  adventurer  met  with  is  sufficient  to  make  a king. 
You  have  in  the  first  case  Bonaparte,  and  in  the 
second  Iturbide.  But  the  first  family  come  across 
is  not  sufficient  to  form  a dynasty,  for  there  is  ne- 
cessarily a certain  amount  of  antiquity  required  as 
a race,  and  the  wrinkle  of  centuries  cannot  be 
improvised. 

If  we  place  ourselves  at  the  standpoint  of  states- 
men, with  all  due  reserves  of  course,  what  are  the 
qualities  of  a king  who  issues  from  a revolution  ? 
He  may  be,  and  it  is  useful  that  he  should  be,  revo- 
lutionary ; that  is  to  say,  have  played  a personal  part 
in  the  revolution,  have  become  either  compromised 
or  renowned  in  it,  and  have  wielded  the  axe  or 
drawn  the  sword.  What  are  the  qualities  of  a dy- 
nasty ? It  must  be  national ; that  is  to  say,  distantly 
revolutionary,  not  through  acts  done,  but  through 
ideas  accepted.  It  must  be  composed  of  the  past 
and  be  historical,  and  of  the  future  and  be  sympa^ 
thetic.  All  this  explains  why  the  first  revolutions 
are  satisfied  with  finding  a man,  Napoleon  or  Crom- 
well, while  the  second  are  determined  on  finding  a 
family,  like  the  House  of  Brunswick  or  the  House 


BADLY  STITCHED. 


11 


of  Orleans.  Royal  houses  resemble  those  Indian 
fig-trees,  each  branch  of  which  bends  down,  becomes 
rooted  in  the  ground,  and  grows  into  a fig-tree. 
Each  branch  of  the  family  may  become  a dynasty, 
on  the  sole  condition  that  it  bends  down  to  the 
people.  Such  is  the  theory  of  clever  men. 

This,  then,  is  the  great  art,  — to  give  success  tlie 
sound  of  a catastrophe,  so  that  those  who  profit  by 
it  may  also  tremble  at  it ; to  season  every  step  taken 
with  fear ; to  increase  the  curve  of  the  transition  until 
progress  is  checked ; to  spoil  this  daybreak,  denounce 
and  retrench  the  roughness  of  enthusiasm ; to  cut 
angles  and  nails ; to  pad  the  triumph,  muffle  the 
right,  roll  the  giant  people  in  flannel,  and  put  it  to 
bed  at  full  speed  ; to  place  this  excess  of  health  under 
medical  treatment,  and  regard  Hercules  as  a con- 
valescent ; to  dilute  the  event  in  expediency,  and 
offer  to  minds  thirsting  for  the  ideal  this  weak  nectar  ; 
to  take  precautions  against  extreme  success,  and  pro- 
\’ide  the  revolution  with  a sunshade.  1830  practised 
this  theory,  which  had  already  been  applied  to  Eng- 
land by  1688,  1830  is  a revolution  arrested  half- 

way, and  a moiety  of  progress  is  almost  right.  Xow, 
logic  ignores  this  as  absolutely  as  the  sun  ignores  a 
rush-light.  Who  check  revolutions  half-way?  The 
bourgeoisie,  ^Tliy  ? Because  the  bourgeoisie  repre- 
sent satisfied  self-interest.  Yesterday  appetite  was 
felt,  to-day  fulness,  and  to-morrow  satiety.  The 
phenomenon  of  1814,  after  Napoleon,  was  reproduced 
in  1830  after  Charles  X.  Attempts  have  been  made, 
though  wrongly,  to  convert  the  bourgeoisie  into  a 
class,  but  they  are  merely  the  contented  portion  of 


12 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


the  population.  The  bourgeois  is  a man  who  has  at 
last  time  to  sit  clown,  and  a chair  is  not  a caste. 
But  through  a desire  to  sit  down  too  soon,  the  pro- 
gress of  the  human  race  may  be  arrested,  and  this 
has  frequently  been  the  fault  of  the  bourgeoisie ; and 
people  are  not  a class  because  they  commit  a fault, 
and  selfishness  is  not  one  of  the  divisions  of  the 
social  order.  However,  as  we  must  be  just  even 
towards  selfishness,  the  condition  for  which  that  por- 
tion of  the  nation  called  the  bourgeoisie  yearned  after 
the  shock  of  1830  was  not  inertness,  which  is  com- 
plicated with  indifference  and  sloth,  and  contains  a 
little  shame ; nor  was  it  sleep,  which  presupposes  a 
momentary  oblivion  accessible  to  dreams,  but  it  was 
a halt.  This  word  contains  a double,  singular,  and 
almost  contradictory  meaning,  for  it  implies  troops 
on  the  march,  that  is  to  say,  movement,  and  a stop- 
page, that  is  to  say,  rest.  A halt  is  the  restoration 
of  strength,  it  is  repose  armed  and  awake,  it  is  the 
accomplished  fact,  posting  its  sentries  and  standing 
on  guard.  A halt  presupposes  a combat  yesterday 
and  a combat  to-morrow,  — it  is  the  interlude  be- 
tween 1830  and  1848. 

What  we  here  call  combat  may  also  be  called 
progress.  Hence  the  bourgeoisie  as  well  as  the 
statesmen  required  a man  who  expressed  the  idea  of 
a halt,  an  “ although-because,”  a composite  individ- 
uality signifying  revolution  and  stability ; in  other 
words,  strengthening  the  present  by  the  evident  com- 
patibility of  the  j)ast  with  the  future.  This  man 
was  found  “ ready-made,”  and  his  name  was  Louis 
Philippe  d’Orleans.  The  221  made  Louis  Philippe 


BADLY  STITCHED. 


13 


king,  and  Lafayette  undertook  the  coronation.  He 
named  him  “ the  best  of  Republics,”  and  the  Town 
Hall  of  Paris  was  substituted  for  the  Cathedral  of 
Rheims.  Tliis  substitution  of  a half-throne  for  a 
complete  throne  was  “the  work  of  1830.”  When 
the  clever  men  had  completed  their  task,  the  im- 
mense faidt  of  their  solution  was  apparent ; all  this 
had  been  done  beyond  the  pale  of  absolute  right, 
wluch  shouted,  “ I protest ! ” and  then,  formidable 
thing,  receded  into  the  darkness. 


CHAPTER  III. 


LOUIS  PHILIPPE. 

Revolutions  have  a terrible  arm  and  a lucky 
hand ; they  hit  hard  and  choose  well.  Even  when 
incomplete,  bastardized,  and  reduced  to  the  state  of 
a younger  revolution,  like  that  of  1830,  they  nearly 
always  retain  sufficient  providential  light  not  to  fall 
badly,  and  their  eclipse  is  never  an  abdication.  Still, 
we  must  not  boast  too  loudly,  for  revolutions  them- 
selves are  mistaken,  and  grave  errors  have  been 
witnessed  ere  now.  Let  us  return  to  1830,  which 
was  fortunate  in  its  deviation.  In  the  establishment 
which  was  called  order  after  the  revolution  was  cut 
short,  the  king  was  worth  more  than  the  Royalty. 
Louis  Philippe  was  a rare  man. 

Son  of  a father  to  whom  history  will  certainly  grant 
extenuating  circumstances,  but  as  worthy  of  esteem 
as  his  father  was  of  blame  ; possessing  all  the  jirivate 
virtues  and  several  of  the  public  virtues ; careful  of 
his  health,  his  fortune,  his  person,  and  his  business 
affairs ; knowing  the  value  of  a minute,  but  not  al- 
ways the  value  of  a, year;  sober,  serious,  peaceful, 
and  patient ; a good  man  and  a good  prince  ; sleep- 
ing with  his  wife,  and  having  in  his  palace  lackeys 


LOUIS  PHILIPPE. 


15 


whose  business  it  was  to  show  the  conjugal  couch  to 
the  cits,  — a regular  ostentation  which  had  grown 
useful  after  tlie  old  illegitimate  displays  of  the  elder 
branch  ; acquainted  with  all  the  languages  of  Europe, 
and,  what  is  rarer  still,  with  all  the  languages  of  all 
the  interests,  and  speaking  them  ; an  admirable  rep- 
resentative of  the  “ middle  classes,”  but  surpassing 
them,  and  in  every  way  gi’eater  ; possessing  the  ex- 
cellent sense,  while  appreciating  the  blood  from 
which  he  sprang,  of  claiming  merit  for  his  personal 
value,  and  very  particular  on  the  question  of  his  race 
by  declaring  himself  an  Orleans  and  not  a Bourbon  ; 
a thorough  first  prince  of  the  blood,  so  long  as  he 
had  only  been  Most  Serene  Highness,  but  a frank 
bourgeois  on  the  day  when  he  became  His  Majesty  ; 
diffuse  in  public,  and  concise  in  private  life  ; branded 
as  a miser,  but  not  proved  to  be  one ; in  reality,  one 
of  those  saving  men  who  are  easily  prodigal  to  satisfy 
their  caprices  or  their  duty ; well  read  and  caring  but 
little  for  literature ; a gentleman  but  not  a cavalier  ; 
simple,  calm,  and  strong  ; adored  by  his  family  and  his 
household  ; a seductive  speaker,  a statesman  who  had 
lost  his  illusions,  cold-hearted,  swayed  by  the  imme- 
diate interest,  governing  from  hand  to  mouth  ; inca- 
pable of  rancor  and  of  gratitude  ; pitilessly  employing 
superiorities  upon  mediocrities,  and  clever  in  con- 
founding by  parliamentary  majorities  those  mysterious 
unanimities  which  growl  hoarsely  beneath  thrones ; 
expansive,  at  times  imprudent  in  his  expansiveness, 
but  displaying  marv'ellous  skill  in  his  imprudence ; 
fertile  in  expedients,  faces,  and  masks ; terrifying 
France  by  Europe,  and  Europe  by  France ; loving 


16 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


his  country  undeniably,  but  preferring  his  family  ; 
valuing  domination  more  than  authority,  and  au- 
thority more  than  dignity ; a temperament  which  has 
this  mournful  feature  about  it,  that  by  turning  every- 
thing to  suceess  it  admits  of  craft  and  does  not 
absolutely  repudiate  baseness,  but  at  the  same  time 
has  this  advantage,  that  it  preserves  politics  from 
violent  shocks,  the  State  from  fraeturcs,  and  society 
from  catastrophes ; minute,  correct,  vigilant,  attentive, 
sagaeious,  and  indefatigable  ; contradicting  himself  at 
times,  and  belying  himself ; bold  against  Austria  at 
Ancona,  obstinate  against  England  in  Spain,  bom- 
barding Antwerp  and  paying  Pritchard ; singing  the 
Marseillaise  with  conviction  ; inaccessible  to  despond- 
ency, to  fatigue,  to  a taste  for  the  beautiful  and  ideal, 
to  rash  generosity,  to  Utopias,  chimeras,  anger,  vanity, 
and  fear  ; possessing  every  form  of  personal  bravery  ; 
a general  at  Valmy,  a private  at  Jemmappes ; eight  • 
times  attacked  by  regicides,  and  always  smiling ; 
brave  as  a grenadier,  and  courageous  as  a thinker ; 
merely  anxious  about  the  chances  of  a European  eon- 
vulsion,  and  unfitted  for  great  political  adventures ; 
ever  ready  to  risk  his  life,  but  not  his  work ; disguis- 
ing his  will  in  influence  for  the  sake  of  being  obeyed 
as  an  intellect  rather  than  as  king ; gifted  wdth  ob- 
servation and  not  with  divination  ; paying  but  slight 
attention  to  minds,  but  a good  judge  of  men, — that  is 
to  say,  requiring  to  see  ere  he  could  judge ; endowed 
with  prompt  and  penetrating  sense,  practical  wisdom, 
fluent  tongue,  and  a prodigious  memory,  and  inees- 
santly  drawing  on  that  memory,  his  sole  similitude 
with  CiBsar,  Alexander,  and  Napoleon  ; knowing 


LOUIS  PHILIPPE. 


17 


facts,  details,  dates,  and  proper  names,  but  ignorant 
of  the  various  passions  and  tendencies  of  the  crowd, 
the  internal  aspirations  and  concealed  agitation  of 
minds,  — in  one  wordj  of  all  that  may  be  called  the 
in^dsible  currents  of  consciences ; accepted  by  the 
surface,  but  agreeing  little  with  the  lower  strata  of 
French  society  ; getting  out  of  scrapes  by  skill ; gov- 
erning too  much  and  not  reigning  sufficiently ; his 
owTi  Prime  jMinister ; excellent  in  the  art  of  setting 
up  the  littleness  of  realities  as  an  obstacle  to  the 
immensity  of  ideas  ; mingling  with  a true  creative 
faculty  of  ciffilization,  order,  and  organization,  I do 
not  know  what  pettifogging  temper  and  chicanery ; 
the  founder  of  a family  and  at  the  same  time  its  man- 
of-law ; having  something  of  Charlemagne  and  some- 
thing of  an  attorney  in  him  ; but,  on  the  whole,  as  a 
lofty  and  original  figure,  as  a prince  who  managed 
to  acquire  power  in  spite  of  the  anxiety  of  France, 
and  influence  in  spite  of  the  jealousy  of  Europe,  — 
Louis  Philippe  would  be  ranked  among  the  eminent 
men  of  his  age,  and  among  the  most  illustrious 
governors  known  in  history,  if  he  had  loved  glory 
a little,  and  had  a feeling  for  what  is  grand  to 
the  same  extent  that  he  had  a feeling  for  what  is 
useful. 

Louis  Philippe  had  been  handsome,  and  when 
aged,  remained  graceful : though  not  always  ad- 
mired by  the  nation  he  was  always  so  by  the  mob, 
for  he  had  the  art  of  pleasing  and  the  gift  of  charm. 
He  was  deficient  in  majesty,  and  neither  wore  a 
crown  though  king,  nor  displayed  white  hair  though 
an  old  man.  His  manners  belonged  to  the  ancient 

2 


VOL.  IV. 


18 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


r(^gime,  and  his  habits  to  the  new,  — a mixture  of 
the  noble  and  the  citizen  which  siuted  1830.  Louis 
Philippe  was  transition  on  a throne,  and  retained  the 
old  pronunciation  and  orthography,  which  he  placed 
at  the  service  of  modern  opinions : he  was  fond  of 
Poland  and  Hungary,  but  he  wrote  “ les  Polonois,” 
and  pronounced,  “ les  Hongrais.”  He  wore  the  uni- 
form of  the  National  Guard  like  Charles  X.,  and 
the  ribbon  of  the  Legion  of  Honor  like  Napoleon. 
He  went  but  rarely  to  Mass,  not  at  all  to  the  chase, 
and  never  to  the  opera : he  was  incorruptible  by 
priests,  whippers-iu,  and  ballet  girls,  and  this  formed 
part  of  his  citizen  popularity.  He  had  no  Court, 
and  went  out  with  an  umbrella  under  his  arm,  and 
this  umbrella  for  a long  time  formed  part  of  his 
nimbus.  He  was  a bit  of  a mason,  a bit  of  a gar- 
dener, and  a bit  of  a surgeon:  he  bled  a postilion 
who  had  fallen  from  his  horse,  and  no  more  thought 
of  going  out  without  his  lancet  than  Henry  HI. 
would  without  his  dagger.  The  Royalists  ridiculed 
this  absurd  king,  the  first  who  shed  blood  in  order 
to  cure. 

A deduction  must  be  made  in  the  charges  which 
history  brings  against  Louis  Philippe,  and  they 
formed  three  different  columns,  each  of  which  gives 
a different  total,  — one  accusing  royalty,  the  second 
the  reign,  and  the  third  the  king.  Democratic  right 
confiscated,  progress  made  the  second  interest,  the 
protests  of  the  streets  violently  repressed,  the  mili- 
tary execution  of  insurrections,  revolt  made  to  run 
the  gauntlet,  the  Rue  Transnonain,  the  councils  of 
war,  the  absorption  of  the  real  country  in  the  legal 


LOUIS  PHILIPPE. 


19 


country,  and  the  government  on  joint  account  with 
three  hundred  thousand  privileged  persons  — are  the 
deeds  of  royalty : Belgium  refused,  Algeria  too 
harshly  conquered  wdth  more  of  barbarity  than  civi- 
lization, like  India  by  the  English,  the  breach  of  faith 
to  Abd-el-Kader,  Blaye,  Deutz  bought  and  Pritchard 
paid  — are  chargeable  to  the  reign  ; while  the  policy 
which  cares  more  for  the  family  than  the  nation 
belongs  to  the  king.  As  we  see,  when  the  deduc- 
tions have  been  made,  the  charge  against  the  king 
is  reduced ; but  his  great  fault  was  that  he  was 
modest  in  the  name  of  France.  Whence  comes  this 
fault  ? 

Louis  Philippe  wms  a king  who  was  too  much  a 
father,  and  this  incubation  of  a family  which  is  in- 
tended to  produce  a dynasty  is  frightened  at  every- 
thing, and  does  not  like  to  be  disturbed.  Hence 
arises  excessive  timidity,  which  is  offensive  to  a 
nation  which  has  July  14th  in  its  civil  traditions  and 
Austerlitz  in  its  military  annals.  How'ever,  when  we 
abstract  public  duties,  which  should  ever  be  first  ful- 
filled, the  family  deserved  Louis  Philippe’s  profound 
tenderness  for  it.  This  domestic  group  was  admira- 
ble, and  combined  Hrtue  with  talent.  One  of  the 
daughters  of  Louis  Philippe,  jMarie  d’Orl^ans,  placed 
the  name  of  her  race  among  artists  as  Charles 
d'Orleans  had  done  among  the  poets,  and  she  created 
from  her  soul  a statue  -which  she  called  Joan  of  Arc. 
Two  of  Louis  Philippe’s  sons  drew  fi’om  Metternich 
this  demagogic  praise  : “ They  are  young  men  whose 
like  can  be  found  nowhere,  and  such  princes  as  were 
never  seen  before.”  Here  is  the  tnith,  without  ex- 


20 


THE  RUE  P LUMET  IDYLL. 


teiluating  or  setting  down  aught  in  malice,  about 
Louis  Philippe.  It  was  his  good  fortune  to  be  in 
1830  the  Prince  Egalit4,  to  bear  within  him  the  con- 
tradiction between  the  Restoration  and  the  Revolu- 
tion, to  possess  that  alarming  revolutionary  side 
which  becomes  reassuring  in  the  governor : and 
there  was  never  a more  complete  adaptation  of  the 
man  to  the  event,  for  one  entered  the  other  and  the 
incarnation  took  place.  Louis  Philippe  is  1830  made 
man,  and  he  had  also  on  his  side  that  great  designa- 
tion to  a throne,  exile.  He  had  been  proscribed, 
wandering,  and  poor,  and  had  lived  by  his  own 
labor.  In  Switzerland,  this  heir  to  the  richest 
princely  domains  of  France  was  obliged  to  sell  a 
horse,  in  order  to  eat ; at  Reichenau,  he  had  given 
mathematical  lessons  while  his  sister  Adelaide  was 
embroidering  and  sewing.  These  souvenirs  blended 
with  a king  rendered  the  bourgeoisie  enthusiastic. 
With  his  own  hands  he  had  demolished  the  last  iron 
cage  at  Mont  St.  Michel,  erected  by  Louis  XL  and 
employed  by  Louis  XV.  He  was  the  companion 
of  Dumouriez  and  the  friend  of  Lafayette  ; he  had 
belonged  to  the  Jacobin  Club,  and  Mirabeau  had 
tapped  him  on  the  shoulder,  and  Danton  said  to  him, 
“ Young  man.”  At  the  age  of  twenty-four  in  ’93, 
when  IM.  de  Chartres,  he  had  witnessed  from  an  ob- 
scure gallery  in  the  Convention,  the  trial  of  Louis 
XVL,  so  well  named  “ that  poor  tyrant.”  The  blind 
clairvoyance  of  the  revolution  breaking  royalty  in 
the  king,  and  the  king  with  royalty,  while  hardly 
observing  the  man  in  the  fierce  crushing  of  the  idea ; 
the  vast  storm  of  the  Convention  Tribune ; Capet 


LOUIS  PHILIPPE. 


21 


not  kno’wing  what  to  answer ; the  frightful  and 
stupefied  vacillation  of  this  royal  head  before  the 
raging  blast ; the  relative  innocence  of  all  mixed  up 
in  this  catastrophe,  of  those  who  condemned  as  well 
as  of  him  who  was  condemned,  — he,  Louis  Philippe, 
had  looked  at  these  things  and  contemplated  these 
vertigos  ; he  had  seen  centuries  appear  at  the  bar  of 
the  Convention  ; he  had  seen  behind  Louis  XYI., 
that  unfortunate  and  responsible  victim,  the  real 
culprit,  monarchy,  emerging  from  the  darkness,  and 
he  retained  in  his  soul  a respectful  terror  of  this  im- 
mense justice  of  the  people  which  is  almost  as  imper- 
sonal as  the  justice  of  God.  The  traces  which  the 
revolution  left  upon  him  were  prodigious,  and  his 
memory  was  a liGng  imprint  of  these  great  years, 
minute  by  minute.  One  day,  in  the  presence  of  a 
witness  whose  statements  we  cannot  doubt,  he  cor- 
rected from  memory  the  entire  letter  A in  the  list  of 
the  Constituent  Assembly. 

Louis  Philippe  was  an  open-ai  r king ; during  his  reign 
the  press  was  free,  debates  were  free,  conscience  and 
speech  were  free.  The  Laws  of  September  had  a clear 
track.  Though  he  knew  the  corrosive  power  of  light 
upon  privileges,  he  left  his  throne  exposed  to  the  light, 
and  history  will  give  him  credit  for  this  honorable 
beha^’ior.  Louis  Philippe,  like  all  historic  men  who 
have  quitted  the  stage,  is  at  the  present  day  being 
tried  by  the  human  conscience,  but  this  trial  has  not 
yet  gone  through  its  first  stage.  The  hour  when 
history  speaks  with  its  venerable  and  free  accent  has 
not  yet  arrived  for  him ; the  moment  has  not  yet 
come  for  the  final  judgment.  Even  the  stern  and 


22 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


illustrious  historian,  Louis  Blanc,  has  recently  toned 
down  his  first  verdict.  Louis  Philippe  was  elected 
by  the  two  hundred  and  twenty-oue  deputies  in  1830, 
that  is  to  say,  by  a seini-Parliament  and  a semi- 
revolution ; and,  in  any  case,  we  cannot  judge  him 
here  philosophically,  without  making  some  reser- 
vations in  the  name  of  the  absolute  democratic  prin- 
ciple. In  the  eyes  of  the  absolute,  everything  is 
usurpation  which  is  outside  of  these  two  rights,  — 
first,  the  right  of  man  and  in  the  next  place  the 
right  of  the  people ; but  what  we  are  able  to  say 
at  present  is,  that  in  whatever  way  we  may  regard 
him,  Louis  Philippe,  taken  by  himself,  and  looked  at 
from  the  stand-point  of  human  goodness,  will  remain, 
to  employ  the  old  language  of  old  history,  one  of  the 
best  princes  that  ever  sat  on  a throne.  What  has 
he  against  him  ? This  throne ; take  the  king  away 
from  Louis  Philippe  and  the  man  remains.  This  man 
is  good,  at  times  so  good  as  to  be  admirable.  Often 
in  the  midst  of  the  gravest  cares,  after  a day’s  struggle, 
after  the  whole  diplomacy  of  the  Continent,  he  re- 
turned to  his  apartments  at  night ; and  then,  though 
exhausted  by  fatigue  and  want  of  sleep,  what  did 
he  ? He  would  take  up  a list  of  sentenees  and  spend 
the  night  in  revising  a criminal  trial,  considering  that 
it  was  something  to  hold  his  own  against  Europe,  but 
even  greater  to  tear  a culprit  from  the  hands  of  the 
executioner.  He  obstinately  resisted  his  keeper  of 
the  seals,  and  disputed  the  seaffold  inch  by  inch  with 
his  attorney-generals,  those  “ chatterers  of  the  law,” 
as  he  called  them.  At  times  piles  of  sentences  cov- 
ered his  table,  and  he  examined  them  all,  and  felt  an 


LOUIS  PHILIPPE. 


23 


agony  at  the  thought  of  abandoning  these  wretched 
condemned  heads.  One  day  he  said  to  the  witness 
whom  we  just  now  quoted,  “ I gained  seven  of  them 
last  night,”  During  the  earlier  years  of  his  reign  the 
penalty  of  death  ^vas,  as  it  were,  abolished,  and  the 
re-erection  of  the  scaffold  was  a violence  done  to 
the  king.  As  the  Grfeve  disappeared  with  the  elder 
branch,  a bourgeois  Grfeve  was  established  under  the 
name  of  the  Barrifere  St.  Jacques,  for  practical  men” 
felt  the  necessity  of  a quasi-legitimate  guillotine. 
This  was  one  of  the  victories  of  Casimir  Perier,  who 
represented  the  narrow  side  of  the  bourgeoisie,  over 
Louis  Philippe,  wdio  represented  the  liberal  side. 
The  king  annotated  Beccaria  wdth  his  own  hand,  and 
after  the  Fieschi  machine  he  exclaimed,  “What  a 
pity  that  I was  not  wounded,  for  then  I could  have 
shown  mercy ! ” Another  time,  alluding  to  the  re- 
sistance offered  by  his  ministers,  he  wrote  with  refer- 
ence to  a political  culprit,  who  is  one  of  the  most 
illustrious  men  of  the  day,  “ His  pardon  is  granted, 
and  all  that  I have  to  do  now  is  to  obtain  it.”  Louis 
Philippe  was  as  gentle  as  Louis  IX.,  and  as  good  as 
Henri  IV.,  and  in  our  opinion,  in  history,  where  good- 
ness is  the  rare  pearl,  to  have  been  good  is  almost 
better  than  to  have  been  great. 

As  Louis  Philippe  has  been  sternly  judged  by  some, 
and  perhaps  harshly  by  others,  it  is  very  simple  that 
a man,  himself  a phantom  at  the  present  day,  who 
knew  that  king,  should  offer  his  testimony  for  him 
in  the  presence  of  history ; this  testimony,  whatever 
its  value  may  be,  is  evidently,  and  before  all,  dis- 
interested. An  epitaph  written  by  a dead  man  is 


24 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


sincere ; one  shadow  may  console  another  shadow, 
for  sharing  the  same  darkness  gives  the  right  to 
praise,  and  there  is  no  fear  that  it  will  ever  be 
said  of  two  tombs  in  exile,  — this  man  flattered 
the  other. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


CRACKS  IX  THE  EOErXDATIOX. 

At  this  moment,  ivhen  the  drama  we  are  recount- 
ins:  is  about  to  enter  one  of  those  tras;ic  clouds 
which  coyer  the  beginning  of  the  reign  of  Louis 
Philippe,  it  is  quite  necessary  that  this  book  should 
give  an  explanation  about  that  king.  Louis  Philippe 
had  entered  upon  the  royal  authority  without  \’io- 
lence  or  direct  action  on  his  part,  through  a revolu- 
tionary change  of  wind,  which  was  e\'idently  very 
distinct  from  the  real  object  of  the  revolution,  but 
in  which  he,  the  Due  d’Orleans,  had  no  personal 
initiative.  He  was  born  a prince,  and  believed  him- 
self elected  king;  he  had  not  given  himself  these 
functions,  nor  had  he  taken  them  ; they  were  offered 
to  him  and  he  accepted,  comnneed  — WTongly  as  we 
think,  but  still  comdneed  — that  the  offer  was  in 
accordance  with  right,  and  the  acceptance  in  har- 
mony Avith  duty.  Hence  came  an  honest  possession, 
and  we  say  in  all  conscience  that,  as  Louis  Philippe 
Avas  honest  in  the  possession,  and  democracy  honest 
in  its  attack,  the  amount  of  terror  disengaged  from 
social  struggles  caunot  be  laid  either  on  the  king  or 
the  democracy.  A collision  of  principles  resembles 
a collision  of  elements ; ocean  defends  the  water 


26 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


and  the  hurricane  the  air  ; the  king  defends  royalty, 
democracy  defends  the  people  ; the  relative,  which  is 
monarchy,  resists  the  absolute,  which  is  the  republic ; 
society  bleeds  from  this  conflict,  but  what  is  its  suf- 
fering to-day  will  be  its  salvation  at  a later  date ; 
and  in  any  case  those  who  struggle  must  not  be 
blamed,  for  one  party  must  be  mistaken.  Eight 
does  not  stand,  like  the  Colossus  of  Rhodes,  on  two 
shores  at  once,  with  one  foot  in  the  republic,  the 
other  in  royalty,  but  is  indivisible,  and  entirely  on 
one  side ; those  who  are  mistaken  are  honestly  mis- 
taken, and  a blind  man  is  no  more  a culprit  than  a 
Vendean  is  a brigand.  We  must,  therefore,  only 
impute  these  formidable  collisions  to  the  fatality  of 
things,  and,  whatever  these  tempests  may  be,  human 
irresponsibility  is  mixed  up  with  them. 

Let  us  finish  our  statement : The  Government  of 
1830  had  a hard  life  of  it  from  the  beginning,  and 
born  yesterday  it  was  obliged  to  combat  to-day. 
Scarce  installed,  it  felt  everywhere  the  vague  move- 
ments of  faction  beneath  the  foundation  of  Jidy, 
which  had  so  recently  been  laid,  and  was  still  any- 
thing but  solid.  Resistance  sprang  up  on  the  mor- 
row, and  might,  perhaps,  have  been  born  on  the  day 
before,  and  from  month  to  month  the  hostility  in- 
creased, and  instead  of  being  dull  became  patent. 
The  revolution  of  July,  frowned  upon  by  kings  out 
of  France,  was  diversely  interpreted  in  France.  God 
imparts  to  men  His  will  visible  in  events,  an  obscure 
text  written  in  a mysterious  language.  Men  at  once 
make  themselves  translations  of  it,  — hasty,  incorrect 
translations,  full  of  errors,  gaps,  and  misunderstand- 


CRACKS  IK  THE  FOUNDATION. 


27 


iiigs.  Very  few  minds  comprehend  the  di^’ine  lan- 
guage ; the  more  sagacious,  the  calmer,  and  the 
more  profound  decipher  slowly,  and  when  they  arrive 
with  their  version,  the  work  has  been  done  long 
before  ; there  are  already  twenty  translations  offered 
for  sale.  From  each  translation  springs  a party,  and 
fi’om  each  misunderstanding  a failure,  and  each  party 
believes  that  it  has  the  only  true  text,  and  each  fac- 
tion believes  that  it  possesses  the  light.  Often 
enough  power  itself  is  a faction,  and  there  are  in 
revolutions  men  who  swim  against  the  current ; 
they  are  the  old  parties.  As  revolutions  issue  from 
the  right  to  revolt,  the  old  parties  that  cling  to  heir- 
dom by  grace  of  God  fancy  that  they  have  a right  to 
revolt  against  them;  but  this  is  an  error,  for  in  revo- 
lutions the  rebel  is  not  the  people  but  the  king. 
Revolution  is  precisely  the  contrary  of  revolt ; every 
revolution,  being  a normal  accomplishment,  contains 
its  legitimacy  within  itself,  which  false  revolutionists 
sometimes  dishonor,  but  which  endures  even  when 
sullied,  and  sur\dves  even  when  bleeding.  Revolu- 
tions issue,  not  from  an  accident,  but  a necessity ; for 
they  are  a return  from  the  factitious  to  the  real,  and 
they  take  place  because  they  must  take  place. 

The  old  legitimist  parties  did  not  the  less  assail  the 
revolution  of  1830  with  all  the  violence  which 
springs  from  false  reasoning.  Errors  are  excellent 
projectiles,  and  they  skilfully  struck  it  at  the  spot 
where  it  was  vulnerable,  — the  flaw  in  its  cuirass,  its 
want  of  logic,  — and  they  attacked  this  revolution 
in  its  royalty.  They  cried  to  it,  “Revolution,  why 
this  king?  ” Factions  are  blind  men  who  aim  accu- 


28 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


rately.  This  cry  the  revolutionists  also  raised,  but 
coming  from  them  it  was  logical.  What  was  blun- 
dering in  the  legitimists  was  clear-sightedness  in  the 
democrats  ; 1830  had  made  the  people  bankrupt,  and 
indignant  democracy  reproached  it  with  the  deed. 
The  establishment  of  July  struggled  between  these 
attacks,  made  by  the  past  and  the  future ; it  repre- 
sented the  minute  contending  on  one  side  with  mon- 
archical ages,  on  the  other  with  eternal  right and 
then,  again,  1830,  no  longer  a revolution,  and  becom- 
ing a monarchy,  was  obliged  to  take  precedence  of 
Europe,  and  it  was  a further  difficulty  to  maintain 
peace,  for  a harmony  desired  against  the  grain  is  often 
more  onerous  than  a war.  From  this  sullen  conflict, 
ever  muzzled  but  ever  grumbling,  emerged  armed 
peace,  that  ruinous  expedient  of  civilization  suspect- 
ing itself.  The  royalty  of  July  reared  in  the  team  of 
European  cabinets,  although  Metternich  would  have 
liked  to  put  a kicking-strap  upon  it.  Impelled  by 
progress  in  France,  it  impelled  in  its  turn  the  slowly- 
moving  European  monarchies,  and  while  towed,  it 
towed  too. 

At  home,  however,  pauperism,  beggary,  wages,  edu- 
cation, the  penal  code,  prostitution,  the  fall  of  woman, 
wealth,  misery,  production,  consumption,  division,  ex- 
change, money,  capital,  the  rights  of  capital,  and  the 
rights  of  labor,  — all  these  questions  were  multiplied 
above  society,  and  formed  a crushing  weight.  Outside 
of  political  parties,  properly  so  called,  another  move- 
ment became  manifest,  and  a philosophic  fermenta- 
tion responded  to  the  democratic  fermentation,  and 
chosen  minds  felt  troubled  like  the  crowd,  — differ- 


CRACKS  IN  THE  FOUNDATION. 


29 


eiitlv,  but  quite  as  much.  Thiuking  men  meditated, 
while  the  soil,  that  is  to  say,  the  people,  traversed  by 
revolutionary  currents,  trembled  beneath  them  -with 
vague  epileptic  shocks.  These  thinkers,  some  isolated, 
but  others  assembled  in  families  and  almost  in  com- 
munities, stirred  up  social  questions  peacefully  but 
deeply;  they  were  impassive  miners,  who  quietly  hol- 
lowed their  galleries  beneath  volcanoes,  scarce  dis- 
turbed by  the  dull  commotions  and  the  fires  of  which 
they  caught  a glimpse.  This  tranquillity  was  not  the 
least  beautiful  spectacle  of  this  agitated  epoch,  and 
these  men  left  to  political  parties  the  question  of 
rights,  to  trouble  themselves  about  the  question  of 
happiness.  ^Yhat  they  wished  to  extract  from  society 
was  the  welfare  of  man  ; hence  they  elevated  material 
questions,  and  questions  about  agriculture,  trade,  and 
commerce,  almost  to  the  dignity  of  a religion.  In  ciWli- 
zation,  such  as  it  has  been  constituted  a little  by  God 
and  a great  deal  by  man,  instincts  are  combined, 
aggregated,  and  amalgamated  so  as  to  form  a real 
hard  rock,  by  virtue  of  a law  of  dynamics  which  is 
carefully  studied  by  social  economists,  those  geolo- 
gists of  politics.  These  meu,  Avho  grouped  them- 
selves under  different  appellations,  but  who  may  all 
be  designated  by  the  generic  title  of  socialists,  tried 
to  pierce  this  rock  and  cause  the  living  waters  of 
human  felicity  to  gush  forth ; their  labors  embraced 
all  questions,  from  that  of  the  scaffold  to  that  of  war, 
and  they  added  to  the  rights  of  man  as  proclaimed  by 
the  French  revolutions,  the  rights  of  the  woman  and 
the  child. 

For  various  reasons  we  cannot  thoroughly  discuss 


30 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


here,  from  the  theoretieal  point  of  view,  the  questions 
raised  by  socialism,  and  we  limit  ourselves  to  an  indica^ 
tion  of  them.  All  the  questions  which  the  socialists 
proposed — laying  aside  cosmogonic  visions,  reverie, 
and  mysticism  — may  be  carried  back  to  two  original 
problems,  the  first  of  which  is,  to  produce  wealth, 
and  the  second,  to  distribute  it.  The  first  problem 
contains  the  question  of  labor,  the  second  the  ques- 
tion of  wages  ; in  the  first,  the  point  is  the  employ- 
ment of  strength,  and  in  the  second,  the  distribution 
of  enjoyments.  From  a good  employment  of  strength 
results  public  power,  and  from  a good  distribution  of 
enjoyments  individual  happiness.  By  good  distribu- 
tion we  mean,  not  equal,  but  equitable,  distribution, 
for  the  first  equality  is  equity.  From  these  two 
things  — combined  public  power  abroad  and  individual 
happiness  at  home  — results  social  prosperity  ; that  is 
to  say,  man  happy,  the  citizen  free,  and  the  nation 
great. 

England  solves  the  first  of  these  two  problems,  — 
she  creates  wealth  admirably,  bnt  distributes  it  badly. 
This  solution,  which  is  completely  on  one  side,  fatally 
leads  her  to  these  two  extremes,— monstrous  opulence 
and  monstrous  misery  ; all  the  enjoyments  belong  to 
the  few,  all  the  privations  to  the  rest,  that  is  to  say, 
to  the  people,  and  privileges,  exceptions,  monopoly, 
and  feudalism  spring  up  from  labor  itself.  It  is  a 
false  and  dangerous  situation  to  base  public  power 
on  private  want,  and  to  root  the  grandeur  of  the 
state  in  the  sufferings  of  the  individual ; it  is  a badly 
composed  grandeur,  in  which  all  the  material  ele- 
ments are  combined,  in  which  no  moral  element 


CRACKS  IN  THE  FOUNDATION. 


31 


enters.  Communism  and  the  agrarian  law  fancy  that 
they  solve  the  second  question,  but  they  are  mistaken. 
Their  distribution  kills  production,  and  equal  diwsion 
destroys  emulation  and  consequently  labor.  It  is  a 
distribution  made  by  the  butcher  who  slaughters 
what  he  divides.  Hence  it  is  impossible  to  be  satis- 
fied with  these  pretended  solutions,  for  killing  riches 
is  not  distributing  them.  The  two  joroblems  must 
be  solved  together  in  order  to  be  properly  solved ; the 
two  solutions  demand  to  be  combined,  and  only  form 
one.  If  you  solve  but  the  first  of  these  problems 
you  will  be  Venice,  you  will  be  England ; you  will 
have,  like  V enice,  an  artificial  power,  like  England,  a 
material  power,  and  you  will  be  the  wicked  rich 
man  ; you  will  perish  by  \fiolence,  as  Venice  died,  or 
by  bankruptcy,  as  England  will  fall ; and  the  world 
mil  leave  you  to  die  and  fall,  because  it  allows  every- 
thing to  die  and  fall  which  is  solely  selfishness,  and 
everything  which  does  not  represent  a virtue  or  an 
idea  to  the  human  race.  Of  course  it  will  be  under- 
stood that  by  the  words  Venice  and  England  we  do 
not  mean  the  peoples,  but  the  social  constructions ; 
the  oligarchies  that  weigh  down  the  nations,  but  not 
the  nations  themselves.  Nations  ever  have  our  re- 
spect and  sympathy.  Venice,  as  a people,  will  live 
again;  England,  as  the  aristocracy,  wiU  fall,  but 
England  the  nation  is  immortal.  This  said,  let  us 
continue. 

Solve  the  two  problems,  encourage  the  rich  and 
protect  the  poor,  suppress  misery,  put  an  end  to 
the  unjust  exhaustion  of  the  weak  by  the  strong, 
bridle  the  iniquitous  jealousy  which  the  man  still 


32 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


on  the  road  feels  for  him  who  has  reached  tlie 
journey’s  end,  adjust  mathematically  and  paternally 
the  wage  to  the  labor,  blend  gratuitous  and  en- 
forced education  with  the  growth  of  childhood  and 
render  science  the  basis  of  manhood,  develop  in- 
telligence while  occupying  the  arms,  be  at  once  a 
powerful  people  and  a family  of  happy  men,  democ- 
ratize property,  not  by  abolishing  but  by  univer- 
salizing it,  so  that  every  citizen  without  exception 
may  be  a land-owner,  — an  easier  task  than  it  may 
be  supposed,  — in  two  words,  know  how  to  j^roduce 
wealth  and  to  distribute  it,  and  you  will  possess  at 
once  material  greatness  and  moral  greatness,  and  be 
worthy  to  call  yourself  France.  Such  was  what 
socialism,  above  and  beyond  a few  mistaken  sects, 
said ; this  is  what  it  sought  in  facts  and  stirred 
up  in  minds : they  were  admirable  efforts  and  sacred 
attempts  ! 

These  doctrines,  theories,  and  resistances  ; the  un- 
expected necessity  for  the  statesman  of  settling  with 
the  philosophers ; glimpses  caught  of  confused  evi- 
dences ; a new  policy  to  create,  agreeing  with  the  old 
world,  while  not  disagreeing  too  greatly  from  the  revo- 
lutionary ideal,  a situation  in  which  Lafayette  must 
be  used  to  defend  Polignac,  the  intuition  of  progress 
apparent  behind  the  riots,  the  chambers,  and  the 
street ; the  king’s  faitli  in  the  revolution  ; rivalries 
to  be  balanced  around  him,  possibly  some  eventual 
resignation  sprung  from  the  vague  acceptance  of  a 
definite  and  superior  right ; his  wish  to  remain  here, 
his  race,  his  family  affections,  his  sincere  respect  for 
the  people,  and  his  own  honesty,  — all  these  painfully 


CRACKS  IN  THE  FOUNDATION. 


33 


affected  liouis  Philippe,  and  at  times,  though  he  was 
so  strong  and  courageous,  crushed  him  beneath  the 
difficulty  of  being  a king.  He  felt  beneath  his  feet 
a formidable  disintegration,  which,  however,  was  not 
a crumbling  to  dust,  as  France  was  more  France  than 
ever.  Dark  storm-clouds  were  collected  on  the  hori- 
zon ; a strange,  gradually  increasing  shadow  was  ex- 
tended over  men,  things,  and  ideas ; it  was  a shadow 
that  sprang  from  anger  and  systems.  Everything 
that  had  been  hastily  suppressed  stirred  and  fer- 
mented, and  at  times  the  conscience  of  the  honest 
man  held  its  breath,  as  there  was  such  an  uneasy 
feeling  produced  by  this  atmosphere,  in  which  soph- 
isms were  mixed  with  truths.  Minds  trembled  in 
the  social  anxiety,  like  leaves  on  the  approach  of 
a storm,  and  the  electric  tension  was  such  that  at 
some  moments  the  first-comer,  a stranger,  would  pro- 
duce a flash,  but  then  the  twilight  obscurity  fell  over 
the  whole  scene  again.  At  intervals,  deep  and  mut- 
tered rolling  allowed  an  opinion  to  be  formed  of  the  * 
amount  of  lightning  which  the  cloud  must  contain. 

Twenty  months  had  scarce  elapsed  since  the  revo- 
lution of  July,  and  the  year  1832  opened  with  an 
imminent  and  menacing  appearance.  The  distress 
of  the  people,  workmen  without  bread ; the  Prince 
of  Cond^  suddenly  departed  from  the  world ; Brus- 
sels expelling  the  Nassaus,  as  Paris  had  done  the 
Bourbons  ; Belgium  offering  itself  to  a French  prince 
and  given  to  an  English  prince ; the  Russian  hatred 
of  Nicholas  ; behind  us  two  demons  of  the  South, 
Ferdinand  in  Spain  and  Miguel  in  Portugal ; the 
earth  trembling  in  Italy ; Metternich  stretching  out 

VOL.  IV. 


34 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


his  hand  over  Bologna ; France  confronting  Austria 
at  Ancona  ; in  the  North  the  sinister  sound  of  a ham- 
mer, enclosing  Poland  again  in  its  coffin  ; throughout 
Europe  angry  eyes  watching  France;  England,  a sus- 
picious ally,  prepared  to  push  any  one  who  staggered 
and  to  throw  herself  on  him  who  fell ; the  Peerage 
taking  refuge  behind  Beccaria  to  refuse  four  heads 
to  the  law ; the  fleurs-de-lys  erased  from  the  king’s 
coaches;  the  cross  dragged  from  Notre  Dame;  La- 
fayette enfeebled,  Laffitte  ruined  ; Benjamin  Constant 
dead  in  poverty  ; Casimir  Perier  dead  in  the  exhaus- 
tion of  power ; a political  and  a social  disease  de- 
claring themselves  simultaneously  in  the  two  capitals 
of  the  kingdom,  — one  the  city  of  thought,  the  other 
the  city  of  toil ; in  Paris  a civil  war,  in  Lyons  a ser- 
vile war ; and  in  both  cities  the  same  furnace-glow, 
a volcanic  purple  on  the  brow  of  the  people ; the 
South  fanaticized,  the  West  troubled,  the  Duchesse 
de  Berry  in  the  Vendee ; plots,  conspiracies,  insurrec- 
* tions,  and  cholera  adding  to  tlie  gloomy  rumor  of 
ideas  the  gloomy  tumult  of  events. 


CHAPTER  V. 


FACTS  FROM  WHICH  HISTORY  IS  DERIVED  BUT 
WHICH  HISTORY  IGNORES. 

Toward  the  end  of  April  matters  became  aggra- 
vated, and  the  fermentation  assumed  the  proportions 
of  an  ebullition.  Since  1830  there  had  been  small 
partial  revolts,  quickly  suppressed,  but  breaking  out 
again,  which  were  the  sign  of  a vast  subjacent  con- 
flagration, and  of  something  terrible  smouldering. 
A glimpse  could  be  caught  of  the  lineaments  of  a 
possible  revolution,  though  it  was  still  indistinct  and 
badly  lighted.  France  was  looking  at  Paris,  and 
Paris  at  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine.  The  Faubourg 
St.  Antoine,  noiselessly  heated,  had  begun  to  boil. 
The  wine-shops  in  the  Rue  de  Charonne  were  grave 
and  stormy,  though  the  conjunction  of  these  two 
epithets  aiiplied  to  wine-shops  appears  singular.  The 
Government  was  purely  and  simply  put  upon  its  trial 
on  this,  and  men  publicly  discussed  whether  “ they 
should  fight  or  remain  quiet.”  There  were  back- 
rooms in  which  workmen  swore  to  go  into  the  streets 
at  the  first  cry  of  alarm,  “ and  fight  without  counting 
their  enemies.”  Once  they  had  taken  the  pledge,  a 
man  seated  in  a corner  of  the  wine-shop  shouted  in 
a sonorous  voice,  “ You  hear  ! Y^ou  have  sworn  ! ” 
Sometimes  they  went  up  to  a private  room  on  the 


36 


THE  EUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


first  floor,  where  scenes  almost  resembling  masonic 
ceremonies  took  place,  and  the  no\'ice  took  oaths, 
“ in  order  to  render  a seridce  to  himself  as  well  as 
to  the  fathers  of  families,”  — such  was  the  formula. 
In  the  tap-rooms,  “ subversive  ” pamphlets  were  read, 
and,  as  a secret  report  of  the  day  says,  “ they  spurned 
the  Government.”  Remarks  like  the  following  could 
be  heard  : “ I do  not  know  the  names  of  the  chief, 
we  shall  not  know  the  day  till  two  hours  before- 
hand.” A workman  said,  “ We  are  three  hundred, 
let  us  each  subscribe  ten  sous,  and  we  shall  have  one 
hundred  and  fifty  francs,  with  which  to  manufacture 
bullets  and  gunpowder.”  Another  said,  “ I do  not 
ask  for  six  months,  I do  not  ask  for  two.  Within  a 
fortnight  we  shall  be  face  to  face  with  the  govern- 
ment, for  it  is  possible  to  do  so  with  twenty-five 
thousand  men.”  Another  said,  “ I do  not  go  to  bed 
at  nights  now,  for  I am  making  cartridges.”  From 
time  to  time  well-dressed  men  came,  feigning  em- 
barrassment and  having  an  air  of  command,  and 
shook  hands  with  the  more  important  and  then  went 
away,  never  staying  longer  than  ten  minutes  ; sig- 
nificant remarks  were  exchanged  in  whispers,  “ The 
plot  is  ripe,  the  thing  is  ready,”  — to  borrow  the  re- 
mark of  one  of  the  audience,  “ this  was  buzzed  by 
all  present.”  The  excitement  was  so  great  that  one 
day  a workman  said  openly  in  a udne-shop,  “ But 
Ave  have  no  weapons,”  to  which  a comrade  replied, 
“ The  soldiers  have  them,”  unconsciously  parodying 
Bonaparte’s  proclamation  to  the  army  of  Italy. 
“ When  they  had  any  very  great  secret,”  a report 
adds,  “ they  did  not  communicate  it,”  though  Ave  do 


FACTS  WHICH  HISTOKY  IGNOEES. 


37 


not  understand  what  they  could  conceal  after  what 
they  had  said.  The  meetings  were  sometimes  peri- 
odical ; at  certain  ones  there  were  never  more  than 
eight  or  ten  members  present,  and  they  were  always 
the  same,  but  at  others  any  one  who  liked  went  in, 
and  the  room  was  so  crowded  that  they  were  obliged 
to  stand ; some  went  there  through  enthusiasm  and 
uassion,  others  “ because  it  was  the  road  to  their 
work.”  In  the  same  way  as  during  the  revolution, 
there  were  female  patriots  in  these  wine-shops,  wdio 
kissed  the  new-comers. 

Other  expressive  facts  were  collected  : thus  a man 
went  into  a wine-shop,  drank,  and  went  away,  saying, 
“ Wine-dealer,  the  revolution  will  pay  wiiat  is  due.” 
Revolutionary  agents  were  nominated  at  a -wine-shop 
opposite  the  Rue  de  Charonne,  and  the  ballot  was 
made  in  caps.  Workmen  assembled  at  a fencing- 
master’s  who  gave  lessons  in  the  Rue  de  Cotte. 
There  was  a trophy  of  arms,  made  of  Avooden  sabres, 
canes,  cudgels,  and  foils.  One  day  the  buttons  were 
removed  from  the  foils,  and  a workman  said,  “ We 
are  five-and-tAventy,  but  they  do  not  reckon  upon  me, 
as  they  consider  me  a machine.”  This  man  was  at 
a later  date  Quenisset.  Things  that  w^ere  premedi- 
tated gradually  assumed  a strange  notoriety ; a Avoman 
Avho  w'as  SAveeping  her  door  said  to  another  woman, 
“ They  have  been  making  cartridges  for  a long  time 
past.”  In  the  open  streets  proclamations  addressed 
to  the  Xational  Guards  of  the  departments  AA^ere 
read  aloud,  and  one  of  them  Avas  signed,  “ Burtot, 
AA-ine-dealer.” 

One  day  a man  wdth  a large  beard  and  an  Italian 


38 


THE  ETJE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


accent  leaped  on  a bench  at  the  door  of  a dram-shop 
in  the  March4  Lenoir,  and  began  reading  a singular 
document,  which  seemed  to  emanate  from  some  oc- 
cult power.  Groups  assembled  around  him  and  ap- 
plauded, and  the  passages  which  most  excited  the 
mob  were  noted  down  at  the  time.  “ Our  doctrines 
are  impeded,  our  proclamations  are  torn  down,  our 
bill-posters  watched  and  thrown  into  prison.  . . . The 
collapse  in  cottons  has  brought  over  to  us  a good 
many  conservatives.  . . . The  future  of  the  people 
is  being  worked  out  in  our  obscure  ranks.  . . . These 
are  the  terms  laid  down,  action  or  reaction,  revolu- 
tion or  counter-revolution,  for  in  our  age  no  one  still 
believes  in  inertia  or  immobility.  For  the  people,  or 
against  the  people,  that  is  the  question,  and  there  is 
no  other.  . . . On  the  day  when  we  no  longer  please 
you,  break  us,  but  till  then  aid  us  to  progress.”  All 
this  took  place  in  broad  daylight.  Other  facts,  of 
even  a more  audacious  nature,  appeared  suspicious  to 
the  people,  owing  to  their  very  audacity.  On  April  4, 
1832,  a passer-by  leaped  on  the  bench  at  the  corner 
of  the  Rue  Sainte  Marguerite,  and  shouted,  “ I am 
a Babouviste,”  but  under  Baboeuf  the  people  scented 
Gisquet.  Among  other  things  this  man  said ; 
“ Down  with  property  ! The  opposition  of  the  Left  is 
cowardly  and  treacherous : when  they  wish  to  be  in 
tlie  right,  they  preach  the  revolution  ; they  are  dem- 
ocratic that  they  may  not  be  defeated,  and  royalist 
so  that  they  need  not  fight.  The  republicans  are 
feathered  beasts ; distrust  the  republicans,  citizen- 
workmen  ! ” “ Silence,  citizen-spy  ! ” a workman 
shouted,  and  this  put  an  end  to  the  speech. 


FACTS  WHICH  HISTOEY  IGNORES. 


39 


^Mysterious  events  occurred.  At  niglitfall  a u'ork- 
raan  met  a “ well-dressed  ” man  near  the  canal,  who 
said  to  him,  “ "SMiere  art  thou  going,  citizen  ? ” “ Sir,” 
the  workman  answered,  “ I have  not  the  honor  of 
knowing  you  ” — “I  know  thee,  though  ; ” and  the 
man  added,  “ Fear  nothing,  I am  the  agent  of  the 
committee,  and  it  is  suspected  that  thou  art  not  to 
be  trusted.  But  thou  knowest  that  there  is  an  eye 
upon  thee,  if  thou  darest  to  reveal  anything.”  Then 
he  shook  the  workman’s  hand  and  went  away,  saying, 
“ We  shall  meet  again  soon.”  The  police,  who  were 
listening,  overheard  singular  dialogues,  not  only  in 
the  wine-shops  but  in  the  streets.  “ Get  yourself 
ready  soon,”  said  a weaver  to  a cabinet-maker.  “ Why 
so  ? ” “ There  will  be  shots  to  fire.”  Two  passers- 
by  in  rags  exchanged  the  following  peculiar  remarks, 
which  were  big  with  an  apparent  Jacquerie  ; “ Who 
governs  us  ? ” “ It  is  ^lousieur  Philippe.”  “ Xo,  the 
bourgeoisie.”  It  would  be  au  error  to  siqqiose  that 
we  attach  a bad  sense  to  the  word  “ Jacquerie ; ” the 
Jacques  were  the  poor.  Another  time  a man  was 
heard  saying  to  his  companion,  We  have  a famous 
plan  of  attack.”  Of  a private  conversation  between 
four  men  seated  in  a ditch  near  the  Barri^re  du 
Trone  only  the  following  was  picked  up : “ Every- 
thing possible  will  be  done  to  prevent  him  walking 
about  Paris  any  longer.”  “ Who  is  the  he  ? ” there 
is  a menacing  obscurity  about  it.  The  “principal 
chiefs,”  as  they  were  called  in  the  faubourg,  kept 
aloof,  but  were  supposed  to  assemble  to  arrange  mat- 
ters at  a wine-shop  near  tlie  Point  St.  Eustache,  A 
man  of  the  name  of  Aug,  chief  of  the  society  for  the 


40 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


relief  of  tailors,  was  supposed  to  act  as  central  inter- 
mediary between  the  chiefs  and  the  Faubourg  St. 
Antoine.  Still,  a eonsiderable  amount  of  obscurity 
hangs  over  these  chiefs,  and  no  fact  could  weaken  the 
singular  pride  iu  the  answer  made  at  a later  date,  by 
a prisoner  brought  before  the  Court  of  Peers. 

“ Who  was  your  chief?  ” 

“ I did  not  know  any,  and  I did  not  recognize  any.” 

As  yet  they  were  but  words,  transparent  but  vague, 
at  times  mere  rumors  and  hearsays,  but  other  signs 
arrived  ere  long.  A carpenter,  engaged  in  the  Rue 
de  Rueilly  in  nailing  up  a fenee  round  a block  of 
ground  on  which  a house  was  being  built,  found  on 
the  ground  a piece  of  a torn  letter,  on  which  the 
following  lines  were  still  legible  The  Com- 

mittee must  take  measures  to  prevent  recruiting  in 
the  sections  for  the  different  societies ; ” and  as  a 
postscript,  “ We  have  learned  that  there  are  guns  at 
No.  5,  Rue  du  Faubourg,  Poissonuihre,  to  the  number 
of  five  or  six  thousand,  at  a gunmaker’s  in  the  yard. 
The  Seetion  possesses  no  arms.”  What  startled  the 
carpenter,  and  induced  him  to  show  the  thing  to  his 
neighbors,  was  that  a few  paces  farther  on  he  found 
another  paper,  also  torn,  and  even  more  significant, 
of  which  jve  reproduce  the  shape,  owing  to  the 
historic  interest  of  these  strange  documents. 


Q 

C 

D 

E 

Apprenez  cette  liste  par  cceur.  Apres, 
vous  la  dechirerez  : Les  liommes  ad- 
inis  en  feront  aataut  lorsque  vous  leur 
aurez  transmis  dcs  ordres. 

Salut  et  Frateniite. 

u og  a‘  fe  L. 

FACTS  WHICH  HISTOEY  IGNORES. 


41 


Persons  at  that  time  on  the  scent  of  this  discovery 
did  not  learn  till  a later  date  the  meaning  of  the  four 
capitals,  — Qiiintiirions,  Centurions,  Deciirions,  and 
^cla  ireurs,  or  the  sense  of  the  letters  ii  og  d fe, 
which  were  a date,  and  indicated  “this  15th  April, 
1832.”  Under  each  capital  letter  were  written  names 
followed  by  very  characteristic  remarks.  Thus,  “ Q. 
Baimerel,  8 guns,  83  cartridges.  A safe  man.  — C. 
Boubifere,  1 pistol,  40  cartridges.  — D.  Rollet,  1 foil, 
1 pistol,  1 lb,  gunpowder.  — E.  Tessin,  1 sabre,  1 
cartouche-box.  Punctual. — Terreur,  8 guns.  Brave,” 
etc.  Lastly,  this  carpenter  found  in  the  same  en- 
closure a third  paper,  on  which  was  written  in  pen- 
cil, but  very  legibly,  this  enigmatical  list. 

Unite.  Blanchard  : Arbre  sec.  6. 

Barra.  Sixteen.  Sail  au  Comte. 

Koseiusko.  Aubry  the  butcher  ? 

J.  J.  R. 

Gains  Graccus. 

Right  of  reUsion,  Dufond.  Four, 

Downfall  of  the  Girondists.  Derbac.  Maubuee. 

Washington.  Pinson.  1 pist.  86  cart. 

IMarseillaise. 

Sovereignty  of  the  people.  Michel.  Quincampoix. 
Sabre. 

Hoche. 

Marceau.  Plato.  Arbre  Sec. 

Warsaw,  Tilly,  crier  of  the  Populaire. 

The  honest  citizen  in  whose  hands  this  list  re- 
mained learned  its  purport.  It  seems  that  the  list 
was  the  complete  nomenclature  of  the  sections  of 
the  fourth  arrondissement  of  the  Society  of  the 


42 


THE  RUE  PLUJIET  IDYLL. 


Rights  of  ]\Ian,  with  the  names  and  addresses  of  the 
chiefs  of  sections.  At  the  present  day,  when  these 
obscure  facts  have  become  historic,  they  may  be  pub- 
lished. We  may  add  that  the  foundation  of  the 
Society  of  the  Rights  of  INIan  seems  to  have  been 
posterior  to  the  date  on  which  this  paper  was  found, 
and  so  it  was  possibly  only  a sketch.  After  proposi- 
tions and  words  and  written  information,  material 
facts  began  to  pierce  through.  In  the  Rue  Popin- 
court,  at  the  shop  of  a broker,  seven  pieces  of  jiaper, 
all  folded  alike,  were  found  in  a drawer ; these 
papers  contained  twenty-six  squares  of  the  same 
gray  paper,  folded  in  the  shape  of  cartridges,  and  a 
card  on  which  was  written  : — 


Saltpetre 12  oz. 

Sulphur 2 “ 

Charcoal 2^  “ 

Water 2 “ 


Tlie  report  of  the  seizure  showed  that  there  was  a 
strong  smell  of  gunpowder  in  the  drawer. 

A mason,  returning  home  after  his  day’s  work,  left 
a small  parcel  on  the  bench  near  the  bridge  of  Aus- 
terlitz.  It  was  carried  to  the  guard-house  and 
opened,  and  from  it  were  taken  two  jirinted  dia- 
logues signed  “ Lahautiere,”  a song  called  “Workmen, 
combine  ! ” and  a tin  box  full  of  cartridges.  A 
workman  drinking  t\ath  his  comrade  bade  him  feel 
how  hot  he  was  ; and  the  other  noticed  a pistol 
under  his  jacket.  In  a ditch  on  the  boulevard  be- 
tween Pbre  Lachaise  and  the  Barribre  du  Trone, 
some  children,  playing  at  the  most  deserted  spot, 


FACTS  WHICH  HISTORY  IGNORES. 


43 


discovered  under  a heap  of  rubbish  a bag  containing 
a bullet  mould,  a mandrel  for  making  cartridges,  a 
pouch  in  which  there  Avere  some  grains  of  gun- 
powder, and  an  iron  ladle  on  Avhich  were  evident 
signs  of  melted  lead.  Some  police  agents  suddenly 
entering  at  five  A.M.  the  room  of  one  Pardon, 
Avho  was  at  a later  date  a sectionist  belonging  to  the 
Barricade  Merry  section,  found  him  sitting  on  his 
bed  with  cartridges  in  his  hand,  which  he  Avas  in 
the  act  of  making.  At  the  hour  Avhen  Avorkmen  are 
generally  resting,  two  men  Avere  noticed  to  meet 
betAveen  the  Picpus  and  Charenton  barribres,  in  a 
lane  running  betAveen  tAvo  Avails.  One  took  a pistol 
from  under  his  blouse,  Avhich  he  handed  to  the 
other;  as  he  gave  it  him  he  noticed  that  the  per- 
spiration on  his  chest  had  dampened  the  gunpowder, 
he  therefore  filled  the  pan  afresh,  and  the  tAvo  men 
thereupon  parted.  A man  of  the  name  of  Gallas, 
afterwards  killed  in  the  April  affair  in  the  Rue  Beau- 
bourg,  used  to  boast  that  he  had  at  home  seven 
hundred  cartridges  and  twenty-four  gun  Hints.  One 
day  the  Government  received  information  that  arms 
and  tAvo  hundred  thousand  cartridges  had  just  been 
distributed  in  the  faubourg,  and  the  next  Aveek  thirty 
thousand  more  cartridges  Avere  given  out.  The  re- 
markable thing  AAms  that  the  police  could  not  seize 
any  of  them  ; but  an  intercepted  letter  stated : 
“ The  day  is  not  far  distant  Avhen  eighty  thousand 
patriots  AA’ill  be  under  arms  in  four  hours.” 

All  this  fermentation  Avas  public,  Ave  might  almost 
say  calm,  and  the  impending  insurrection  prepared 
its  storm  quietly  in  the  face  of  the  Government.  No 


44 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


singularity  was  lacking  in  this  crisis,  which  was  still 
subterranean,  but  already  perceptible.  The  citizens 
spoke  peacefully  to  the  workmen  of  what  was  pre- 
paring. They  said,  “ How  is  the  revolt  going  on  ? ” 
in  the  same  tone  as  they  could  have  said,  “ How  is 
your  wife  ? ” A furniture  broker  in  the  Rue  Moreau 
asked,  “Well,  when  do  you  attack? ’’and  another 
shop-keeper  said,  “ They  will  attack  soon,  I know 
it.  A month  ago  there  were  fifteen  thousand  of 
you,  and  now  there  are  twenty-five  thousand.”  He 
offered  his  gun,  and  a neighbor  offered  a pocket 
pistol  which  was  marked  for  sale  at  seven  franes. 
The  revolutionary  fever  spread,  and  no  point  of  Paris 
or  of  France  escaped  it.  The  artery  throbbed  every- 
where, and  the  network  of  secret  societies  began 
spreading  over  the  country  like  the  membranes  which 
spring  up  from  certain  inflammations,  and  are  formed 
in  the  human  body.  From  the  Association  of  the 
Friends  of  the  People,  which  was  at  the  same  time 
public  and  secret,  sprang  the  Society  of  the  Rights 
of  ]\Ian,  which  dated  one  of  its  orders  of  the  day, 
“ Pluviose,  year  40  of  the  republican  era,”  which  was 
destined  even  to  survive  the  decrees  of  the  Court 
of  Assizes  pronouncing  its  dissolution,  and  did  not 
hesitate  to  give  to  its  sections  significant  titles  like 
the  following : “ Pikes.  The  Tocsin.  The  Alarm 
Gun.  The  Phrygian  Cap.  January  21.  The  Beg- 
gars. The  Vagrants.  March  forward.  Robespierre. 
The  Level. 

The  Society  of  the  Rights  of  Man  engendered  the 
Society  of  Action,  composed  of  impatient  men  who 
detached  themselves  and  hurried  forward.  Other 


FACTS  WHICH  HISTORY  IGNORES. 


45 


associations  tried  to  recruit  themselves  in  the  great 
mother  societies : and  the  sectionists  complained  of 
being  tormented.  Such  were  the  “ Gaulish  Society  ” 
and  the  “Organizing  Committee  of  the  Municipali- 
ties ; ” sueh  the  associations  for  the  “ Liberty  of  the 
Press,”  for  “ Indmdual  Liberty,”  for  the  “ Instruction 
of  the  People,”  and  “ Against  Indirect  Taxes.”  Next 
we  have  the  Society  of  Equalitarian  Workmen  di- 
’V’ided  into  three  fractions,  — the  Equalitarians,  the 
Communists,  and  the  Reformers.  Then,  again,  the 
Army  of  the  Bastilles,  a cohort  possessing  military 
organization,  four  men  being  commanded  by  a cor- 
poral, ten  by  a sergeant,  twenty  by  a sub-lieutenant, 
and  forty  by  a lieutenant ; there  were  never  more 
than  five  men  who  knew  each  other.  This  is  a erea- 
tion  where  preeaution  is  combined  with  audacity, 
and  which  seems  to  be  stamped  with  the  genius  of 
Veniee.  The  eentral  committee  which  formed  the 
head,  had  two  arms,  — the  Society  of  Action  and 
the  Army  of  the  Bastilles.  A legitimist  association, 
the  “ Knights  of  Fidelity,”  agitated  among  these 
republican  affiliations,  but  was  denounced  and  re- 
pudiated. The  Parisian  soeieties  ramified  through 
the  principal  cities.  Lyons,  Nantes,  Lille,  and  Mar- 
seilles, had  their  Soeiety  of  the  Rights  of  INIan,  The 
Charbonnihre,  and  the  Free  jMen.  Aix  had  a revo- 
lutionary society  ealled  the  Cougourde.  We  have 
already  mentioned  that  name. 

At  Paris  the  Faubourg  Marceau  buzzed  no  less 
than  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine,  and  the  schools  were 
quite  as  excited  as  the  faubourgs.  A coffee-shop 
in  the  Rue  Saint  Hyacinthe,  and  the  Estaminet  des 


46 


THE  EUE  FLUHET  IDYLL. 


Sept  Billards  in  the  Rue  des  Matliurins  St,  Jacques, 
served  as  the  gathering-place  for  the  students.  The 
Society  of  the  Friends  of  the  A.  B.  C.  affiliated  with 
the  Mutualists  of  Angers,  and  the  Cougourde  of  Ais 
assembled,  as  we  have  seen,  at  the  Cafe  IMusain,  The 
same  young  men  met,  as  we  have  also  said,  at  a wine- 
shop and  eating-house  near  the  Rue  IMontdetour, 
called  Corinthe.  These  meetings  were  secret,  but 
others  were  as  public  as  possible,  and  we  may  judge 
of  their  boldness  by  this  fragment  from  an  exami- 
nation that  was  held  in  one  of  the  ulterior  trials. 
“ Where  was  the  meeting  held  ? ” “ In  the  Rue  de 

la  Paix.”  “ At  whose  house  ? ” “ In  the  street,” 

“ What  sections  were  there  ? ” “ Only  one.”  “ Which 
one  ? ” “ The  Manuel  section.”  “ Who  was  the 

chief?”  “Myself.”  “You  are  too  young  to  have 
yourself  formed  this  serious  resolve  of  attacking 
the  Government,  Whence  came  your  instructions  ? ” 
“ From  the  central  committee,”  The  army  was  un- 
dermined at  the  same  time  as  the  population,  as  was 
proved  at  a later  date  by  the  movements  of  B4ford, 
Luneville,  and  Epiual.  Hopes  were  built  on  the 
5 2d,  5th,  8th,  and  37th  regiments,  and  on  the  20th 
light  infantry.  In  Burgundy  and  the  southern  towns 
the  tree  of  liberty  was  planted,  that  is  to  say,  a mast 
surmounted  by  a red  cap. 

Such  was  the  situation. 

This  situation,  as  we  said  at  the  commencement, 
the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine  rendered  keen  and  marked 
more  than  any  other  group  of  the  population.  This 
was  the  stitch  in  the  side.  This  old  faubourg, 
peopled  like  an  ant-heap,  laborious,  courageous,  and 


FACTS  WHICH  HISTORY  IGNORES. 


47 


passionate  as  a hive  of  bees,  quivered  in  expecta- 
tion and  the  desire  of  a commotion.  All  was  agi- 
tation there,  but  labor  was  not  suspended  on  that 
account.  Nothing  could  give  an  idea  of  these  sharp 
and  sombre  faces ; there  were  in  this  faubourg 
crushing  distress  hidden  under  the  roofs  of  houses, 
and  also  ardent  and  rare  minds.  It  is  especially 
in  the  case  of  distress  and  intelligence  that  it  is 
dangerous  for  extremes  to  meet.  The  Faubourg  St. 
Antoine  had  other  causes  for  excitement,  as  it  re- 
ceived the  counter-stroke  of  commercial  crisis,  bank- 
ruptcies, stojipages,  and  cessation  of  work,  which 
are  inherent  in  all  political  convulsions.  In  revo- 
lutionary times  misery  is  at  once  the  cause  and  the 
effect,  and  the  blow  which  it  deals  falls  upon  it- 
self again.  This  population,  full  of  haughty  vh’tue, 
capable  of  the  highest  amount  of  latent  caloric,  ever 
ready  to  take  up  arms,  prompt  to  explode,  irritated, 
profound,  and  undermined,  seemed  to  be  only  waiting 
for  the  fall  of  a spark.  Whenever  certain  sparks 
float  about  the  horizon,  driven  by  the  wind  of  events, 
we  cannot  help  thinking  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine 
and  the  formidable  chance  which  has  placed  at  the 
gates  of  Paris  this  powder-magazine  of  sufferings 
and  ideas. 

The  wine-shops  of  the  Antoine  suburb,  which 
have  been  more  than  once  referred  to  iii  this  sketch, 
possess  an  historic  notoriety.  In  times  of  trouble 
people  grow  intoxicated  in  them  more  on  words  than 
wine  ; and  a species  of  prophetic  spirit  and  an  efflu- 
\dum  of  the  future  circulates  there,  s^velling  hearts 
and  ennobling  minds.  These  wme-shops  resemble 


48 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  PDYLL. 


the  taverns  on  the  Mons  Aveiitinus,  built  over  the 
Sibyl’s  cave  and  communicating  with  the  sacred  blasts 
of  the  depths,  — taverns  in  which  the  tables  were  al- 
most tripods,  and  people  drank  what  Ennius  calls  the 
Sibylline  wine.  The  Faubourg  St,  Antoine  is  a reser- 
voir of  the  people,  in  which  the  revolutionary  earth- 
quake makes  fissures,  through  which  the  sovereignty 
of  the  people  flows.  This  sovereignty  can  act  badly, 
it  deceives  itself  like  other  things,  but  even  when 
led  astray  it  remains  grand.  We  may  say  of  it,  as 
of  the  blind  Cyclops,  “ Ingens.”  In  ’93,  according 
as  the  idea  that  floated  was  good  or  bad,  or  accord- 
ing as  it  was  the  day  of  fanaticism  or  enthusiasm, 
savage  legions  or  heroic  bands  issued  from  this  fau- 
bourg. Savage,  — let  us  explain  that  word.  What 
did  these  bristling  men  want,  who,  in  the  Genesis 
of  the  revolutionary  chaos,  rushed  upon  old  over- 
thrown Paris  in  rags,  yelling  and  ferocious,  with 
uplifted  clubs  and  raised  pikes  ? Tliey  wanted  the 
end  of  oppression,  the  end  of  tyranny,  the  end  of 
the  sword,  work  for  the  man,  instruction  for  the 
child,  social  gentleness  for  the  woman,  liberty,  equal- 
ity, fraternity,  bread  for  all,  the  idea  for  all,  the  Eden- 
ization  of  the  Avorld,  and  progress  ; and  this  holy, 
good,  and  sweet  thing  called  progress,  they,  driven 
to  exasperation,  claimed  terribly  with  upraised  weap- 
ons and  curses.  They  were  savages,  we  grant,  but 
the  savages  of  civilization.  They  proclaimed  the 
right  furiously,  and  wished  to  force  the  human  race 
into  Paradise,  even  were  it  through  trembling  and 
horror.  They  seemed  barbarians,  and  were  saviors  ; 
they  demanded  light  while  wearing  the  mask  of 


FACTS  WHICH  HISTOEY  IGNORES. 


49 


night.  Oijposite  these  men,  — stern  and  frightful  we 
admit,  but  stern  and  frightfid  for  good,  — there  are 
other  men,  smiling,  embroidered,  gilded,  be-ribboned, 
in  silk  stockings,  with  white  feathers,  yellow  gloves, 
and  kid  shoes,  who,  leaning  upon  a velvet-covered 
table  near  a marble  chimney-piece,  gently  insist  on 
the  maintenance  and  j^reservation  of  the  past,  of  the 
middle  ages,  of  di\ine  right,  of  fanaticism,  of  igno- 
rance, of  slavery,  of  the  punishment  of  death,  and  of 
war ; and  who  glorify  in  a low  voice  and  with  great 
politeness  the  sabre,  the  pyre,  and  the  scaffold.  For 
our  part,  were  we  compelled  to  make  a choice  be- 
tween the  barbarians  of  ci^rilization  and  the  civilized 
of  barbarism,  we  would  choose  the  barbarians.  But, 
thanks  be  to  Heaven,  another  choice  is  possible  ; no 
fall  down  an  abyss  is  required,  either  in  front  or 
behind,  neither  despotism  nor  terrorism.  We  udsh 
for  progress  on  a gentle  incline,  and  God  provides 
for  this.  Reducing  inclines  is  the  whole  policy  of 
God. 


VOL.  IV. 


4 


CHAPTER  VL 


ENJOLRAS  AND  HIS  LIEUTENANTS. 

Shortly  after  this  period,  Enjolras  made  a sort 
of  mysterious  census,  as  if  in  the  view  of  a possible 
event.  All  were  assembled  in  council  at  the  Cafe 
jMusain.  Enjolras  spoke,  mingling  a few  half-enig- 
matical but  significant  metaphors  with  his  words  ; 

“ It  behooves  us  to  know  where  we  are,  and  on 
whom  we  can  count.  If  we  want  combatants  we 
must  make  them  ; and  there  is  no  harm  in  liaving 
weapons  to  strike  with.  Passers-by  always  run  a 
greater  chance  of  being  gored  when  there  are  bulls 
in  the  road  than  when  there  are  none.  So,  suppose 
Ave  count  the  herd.  How  many  are  there  of  us  ? 
This  task  must  not  be  deferred  till  to-morrow,  for 
revolutionists  must  always  be  in  a hurry,  as  progress 
has  no  time  to  lose.  Let  us  distrust  the  unexpected, 
and  not  allow  ourselves  to  be  taken  unawares ; we 
have  to  go  over  all  the  seams  which  Ave  have  scAAni, 
and  see  Avhether  they  hold  , and  the  job  must  be  done 
to-day.  Courfeyrac,  you  Avill  see  the  Polytechnic 
students,  for  this  is  their  day  for  going  out.  Feuilly, 
you  Avill  see  those  of  La  Glacihre,  and  Combeferre 
has  promised  to  go  to  the  Picpus.  Bahorel  will 


ENJOLEAS  AND  HIS  LIEUTENANTS. 


51 


^'isit  the  Estrapade.  Prouvaire,  the  masons  are  grow- 
ing lukewarm,  so  you  will  obtain  us  news  from  the 
lodge  in  the  Rne  de  Grenelle  St.  Honored.  Joly  will 
go  to  Dupuytren’s  clinical  lecture,  and  feel  the  pulse 
of  the  medical  scholars,  while  Bossuet  will  stroll 
round  the  courts  and  talk  with  the  law  students. 
I take  the  Congo urde  myself.” 

“ That  is  all  settled,”  said  Courfeyrac. 

“ Xo.  There  is  another  very  important  matter.” 

“ What  is  it  ? ” Combeferre  asked. 

“ The  Barrifere  du  Maine.” 

Enjolras  was  absorbed  in  thought  for  a moment, 
and  then  continued,  - — 

“ At  the  Barrifere  du  Maine  are  stone-cutters  and 
painters,  an  enthusiastic  body,  but  subject  to  chiUs. 
I do  not  know  what  has  been  the  matter  with  them 
for  some  time  past,  but  they  are  thinking  of  other 
things.  They  are  dying  out,  and  they  spend  their 
time  in  playing  at  dominoes.  It  is  urgent  to  go 
and  talk  to  them  rather  seriously,  and  they  meet  at 
Richefeu’s,  where  they  may  be  found  between  twelve 
and  one  o’clock.  Those  ashes  must  be  blown  up, 
and  I had  intended  to  intrust  the  task  to  that  absent 
fellow  Marius,  who  is  all  right,  but  no  longer  comes 
here.  I need  some  one  for  the  Barrifere  du  hlaine, 
and  have  no  one  left.” 

“ Wliy,  I am  here,”  said  Grantaire. 

“You?” 

J 

“You  indoctrinate  republicans?  you  warm  up 
chilled  hearts  in  the  name  of  principles  ? ” 

“ Why  not  ? ” 


52 


THE  RUE  PLUJIET  IDYLL. 


“ Can  you  possibly  be  fit  for  anything  ? ” 

“ Well,  I have  a vague  ambition  to  be  so.” 

“ You  believe  in  nothing.” 

“ I believe  in  you.” 

“ Grantaire,  will  you  do  a service  ? ” 

“ Any  one  ; clean  your  boots.” 

“Well,  do  not  meddle  in  our  affairs,  sleep  off  your 
absinthe.” 

“ You  are  an  ungrateful  fellow,  Enjolras ! ” 

“ A’ou  be  the  man  capable  of  going  to  the  Barribre 
du  Maine  ! ” 

“ I am  capable  of  going  down  the  Rue  des  Grfes, 
crossing  St.  Michael’s  Square,  cutting  through  the 
Rue  Monsieur  le  Prince,  taking  the  Rue  de  Vaugirard, 
passing  the  Carmelites,  turning  into  the  Rue  d’Assas, 
arriving  at  the  Rue  Cherche  Midi,  leaving  behind  me 
the  Council  of  War,  stepping  across  the  Rue  des 
Vieilles-Tuileries,  following  the  main  road,  going 
through  the  gate  and  entering  Richefeu’s.  I am  ca- 
pable of  all  that,  and  so  are  my  shoes.” 

“ Do  you  know  the  men  at  Richefeu’s  ? ” 

“Not  much.”  , 

“ What  will  you  say  to  them  ? ” 

“ Talk  to  them  about  Robespierre,  Danton,  and 
principles.” 

“A^ou!” 

“ I.  You  really  do  not  do  me  justice,  for  when  I 
make  up  my  mind  to  it  I am  terrible.  I have  read 
Prudhomme,  I know  the  social  contract,  and  have  by 
heart  my  constitution  of  the  year  II.  ‘ The  liberty  of 
the  citizen  ends  where  the  liberty  of  another  citizen 
begins.’  Do  you  take  me  for  a brute  ? I have  an 


EXJOLKAS  AND  HIS  LIEUTENANTS. 


53 


old  assignat  in  my  draw,  — The  Rights  of  Man,  the 
sovereignty  of  the  people,  sapristi ! I am  a bit 
of  a Hebertist  myself.  I can  discourse  splendid 
things  for  six  hours  at  a stretch,  watch  in  hand.” 

“ Be  serious,”  said  Enjolras. 

“ I am  stern,”  Grantaire  answered. 

Enjolras  reflected  for  a few  seconds,  and  then 
seemed  to  have  made  up  his  mind. 

“Grantaire,”  he  said  gravely,  “I  consent  to  try 
you.  You  shall  go  to  the  Barrifere  du  Maine.” 

Grantaire  lodged  in  a furnished  room  close  to  the 
Cafe  Musain.  He  went  away  and  returned  five 
minutes  after  — he  had  been  home  to  put  on  a waist- 
coat of  the  Robespierre  cut. 

“ Red,”  he  said  on  entering,  and  looked  intently  at 
Enjolras. 

Then  he  energetically  turned  back  on  his  chest  the 
two  scarlet  points  of  the  waistcoat,  and,  walking  up 
to  Enjolras,  whispered  in  his  ear,  “ Never  fear ! ” He 
boldly  cocked  his  hat,  and  went  out.  A quarter  of 
an  hour  after,  the  back-room  of  the  Cafe  iNIusain 
was  deserted,  and  all  the  Friends  of  the  A.  B.  C. 
were  going  in  various  directions  about  their  busi- 
ness. Enjolras,  who  had  reserved  the  Cougourde 
for  himself,  was  the  last  to  leave.  The  iNIembers 
of  the  Aix  Cougourde  who  were  in  Paris  assem- 
bled at  that  period  on  tlie  plain  of  Issy,  in  one  of 
the  abandoned  quarries  so  numerous  on  that  side  of 
Paris. 

Enjolras,  while  walking  toward  the  meeting-place, 
took  a mental  reHew  of  the  situation.  The  gra\dty 
of  the  events  was  Hsible,  for  when  the  facts  which 


54 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


are  the  forerunners  of  latent  social  disease  move 
heavily,  the  slightest  complication  checks  and  im- 
pedes their  action.  It  is  a phenomenon  from  which 
collapse  and  regeneration  issue.  Enjolras  caught  a 
glimpse  of  a luminous  upheaving  behind  the  dark 
clouds  of  the  future.  Who  knew  whether  the  mo- 
ment might  not  be  at  hand  when  the  people  would 
seize  their  rights  once  again  ? What  a splendid 
spectacle  ! the  revolution  majestically  taking  posses- 
sion of  France  once  more,  and  saying  to  the  world, 
“ To  be  continued  to-morrow  ! ” Enjolras  was  satisfied, 
for  the  furnace  was  aglow,  and  he  had  at  that  self- 
same moment  a gunpowder  train  of  friends  scattered 
over  Paris.  He  mentally  compared  Combeferre’s 
philosophic  and  penetrating  eloquence,  Feuilly’s  cos- 
mopolitan enthusiasm,  Courfeyrac’s  humor,  Bahorel’s 
laugh,  Jean  Prouvaire’s  melancholy,  Joly’s  learning, 
and  Bossuet’s  sarcasms,  to  a species  of  electrical 
flash,  which  produced  fire  everywhere  simultane- 
ously. All  were  at  work,  and  most  certainly  the 
result  would  respond  to  the  effort.  That  was  good, 
and  it  made  him  think  of  Grantaire.  “Ah,”  he  said 
to  himself,  “ the  Barrihre  du  INIaine  is  hardly  at 
all  out  of  my  way,  so  suppose  I go  on  to  Richefeu’s 
and  see  what  Grantake  is  doing,  and  how  far  he 
has  got.” 

It  was  striking  one  by  the  Vaugirard  church  when 
Enjolras  reached  Richefeu’s.  He  pushed  open  the 
door,  went  in,  folded  his  arms,  and  looked  about  the 
room,  which  was  full  of  tables,  men,  and  tobacco 
smoke.  A voice  was  audible  in  this  fog,  sharply 
interrupted  by  another  voice,  — it  was  Grantaire 


EXJOLRAS  AND  HIS  LIEUTENANTS. 


00 


talking  with  some  opponent  of  his.  Graiitaire  was 
seated  opposite  another  man,  at  a marble  table 
covered  mth  sawdust  and  studded  with  dominoes. 
He  smote  the  marble  with  his  fist,  and  this  is 
what  Enjolras  heard  : — 

“ Double  six.” 

“ A four.” 

“ The  pig  ! I have  n’t  any  left.” 

“ You  are  dead.  A two.” 

“A  six.” 

“ A three.” 

“ An  ace.” 

“ Hy  set.” 

“ Four  points.” 

“ With  difficulty.” 

“ It  is  yours.” 

“ I made  an  enormous  mistake.” 

“ You  are  getting  on  all  right.” 

“ Fifteen.” 

‘‘Seven  more.” 

“ That  makes  me  twenty-two  [pensively].  Twenty- 
two  ! ” 

“ You  did  not  expect  the  double  six.  Had  I 
played  it  at  first  it  would  have  changed  the  whole 
game.” 

“ Double  two.” 

“An  ace.” 

“ An  ace  ! well,  a five  ! ” 

“ I have  n’t  one.” 

“ You  played  first,  I believe  ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ A blank.” 


56 


THE  RUE  PLUME T IDYLL. 


“ What  luck  he  has ! Ah ! you  have  luck ; [a 
loug  reverie]  a two.” 

“ All  ace.” 

“ I 've  neither  a five  nor  au  ace.  It  is  stupid  for 
you.” 

“ Domino  ! ” 

“ Ohi  the  deuce ! ” 


BOOK  IL 

£ P 0 N I N E. 


CHAPTER  1. 

THE  lark’s  field. 

• 

Marius  ■witnessed  the  unexpected  denouement  of 
the  snare  upon  'svhose  track  he  had  placed  Javert, 
but  the  Inspector  had  scarce  left  the  house,  taking 
his  prisoners  with  him  in  three  hackney  coaches,  ere 
]\Iarius  stepped  out  of  the  house  in  his  turn.  It  was 
only  nine  in  the  evening,  and  Marius  went  to  call  on 
Conrfeyrac,  who  was  no  longer  the  imperturbable  in- 
habitant of  the  Pays  Latin.  He  had  gone  to  live  in 
the  Rue  de  la  Verrihre,  “ for  political  reasons ; ” and 
this  district  was  one  of  those  in  which  insurrection- 
ists of  the  day  were  fond  of  installing  themselves. 
jMarius  said  to  Courfeyrac,  “ I am  going  to  sleep 
here,”  and  Courfeyrac  pulled  off  one  of  his  two  mat- 
tresses, laid  it  on  the  ground,  and  said,  “ There  you 
are ! ” At  seven  o’clock  the  next  morning  Marius 
returned  to  No.  50-52,  paid  his  quarter’s  rent,  and 
■what  he  owed  to  Marne  Bougon,  had  his  books,  bed, 
table,  chest-of-drawers,  and  two  chairs,  placed  on  a 
truck,  and  went  away  without  lea^^ng  his  address ; 


58 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


SO  that,  when  Javert  returned  in  the  morning  to 
question  Marius  about  the  events  of  the  previous 
evening,  he  only  found  Maine  Bougon,  who  said  to 
him,  “ Gone  away,”  Marne  Bougon  was  convinced 
that  Marius  was  in  some  way  an  accomplice  of  the 
robbers  arrested  the  previous  evening.  “ Who  would 
have  thought  it ! ” she  exclaimed  to  the  jiorteresses 
of  the  quarter,  “ a young  man  whom  you  might  have 
taken  for  a girl ! ” 

Marius  had  two  reasons  for  moving  so  promptly, 
the  first  was  that  he  now  felt  a horror  of  this 
house,  in  which  he  had  seen  so  closely,  and  in 
fdl  its  most  repulsive  and  ferocious  development, 
a social  ugliness  more  frightful  still,  perhaps,  than 
the  wicked  rich  man,  — the  wicked  poor  man.  The 
second  was  that  he  did  not  wish  to  figure  at  the 
trial,  — which  would  in  all  probability  ensue,  — 
and  be  obliged  to  give  e^^dence  against  Th^iar- 
dier.  Javert  believed  that  the  young  man,  whose 
name  he  forgot,  had  been  frightened  and  had  run 
away,  or  else  had  not  even  returned  home  ; he  made 
some  efforts,  however,  to  find  him,  which  were  un- 
successful. A month  elapsed,  then  another.  Marius 
was  still  living  with  Courfeyrac,  and  had  learned 
from  a young  barrister,  an  habitual  walker  of  the 
Salle  des  Pas  Perdus,  that  Th4nardier  was  in  solitary 
confinement,  and  every  INIonday  he  left  a five-fi’anc 
piece  for  him  at  the  wicket  of  La  Force,  Marius, 
having  no  money  left,  borrowed  the  five  francs  of 
Courfeyrac ; it  was  the  first  time  in  his  life  that  he 
borrowed  money.  These  periodical  five  francs  were 
a double  enigma  for  Courfeyrac  who  gave  them,  and 


THE  LARK’S  FIELD. 


59 


for  Theuardier  wdio  received  them.  “Where  can 
they  go  to  ? ” ConrfejTac  thought.  “ Where  can 
they  come  from  ? ” Theuardier  asked  himself. 

iMarius,  however,  was  heart-broken,  for  everything 
had  disappeared  again  through  a trap-door.  He  saw 
nothing  ahead  of  him,  and  his  life  was  once  more 
plunged  into  the  mystery  in  which  he  had  been 
groping.  He  had  seen  again  momentarily  and  very 
closely  the  girl  whom  he  loved,  the  old  man  who  ap- 
peared her  father,  — the  strange  beings  who  were  his 
only  interest  and  sole  hope  in  this  world, — and  at  the 
moment  when  he  fancied  that  he  should  grasp  them, 
a breath  had  carried  off  all  these  shadows.  Xot  a 
spark  of  certainty  and  truth  had  flashed  even  from 
that  most  terrific  collision,  and  no  conjecture  was 
possible.  He  no  longer  knew  the  name  of  which  he 
had  felt  so  certain,  and  it  certainly  was  not  Ursule, 
and  the  Lark  was  a nickname ; and  then,  what 
must  he  think  of  the  old  man  ? Did  he  really  hide 
himself  from  the  police  ? The  white-haired  work- 
man whom  Marius  had  met  in  the  \dcinity  of  the 
Invalides  reverted  to  his  mind,  and  it  now  became 
probable  that  this  workman  and  M.  Leblanc  were 
one  and  the  same.  He  disguised  himself  then,  and 
this  man  had  his  heroic  side  and  his  equivocal  side. 
Why  did  he  not  call  for  help  ? why  did  he  fly  ? was 
he,  yes  or  no,  the  father  of  the  girl  ? and,  lastly, 
was  he  really  the  man  whom  Theuardier  fancied  he 
recognized  ? Theuardier  might  have  been  mistaken. 
These  were  all  so  many  insoluble  problems.  All 
this,  it  is  true,  in  no  way  lessened  the  angelic  charm 
of  the  maiden  of  the  Luxembourg.  Poignant  dis- 


00 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


tress,  — Marius  had  a passion  in  his  heart,  and  night 
over  his  eyes.  He  was  impelled,  he  was  attracted, 
and  he  could  not  stir  ; all  had  vanished,  except  love, 
and  he  had  lost  the  sudden  instincts  and  illumina- 
tions of  even  that  love.  Usually,  this  flame  which 
burns  us  enlightens  us  a little,  and  casts  some  useful 
light  without,  but  Marius  no  longer  even  heard  the 
dumb  counsel  of  passion.  He  never  said  to  himself. 
Suppose  I were  to  go  there,  or  try  this  thing  or 
the  other?  She  whom  he  could  no  longer  call 
Ursule  was  evidently  somewhere,  but  nothing  ad- 
Hsed  Marius  in  what  direction  he  should  seek  her. 
All  his  life  was  now  summed  up  in  two  words,  — 
absolute  uncertainty,  in  an  impenetrable  fog,  — and 
though  he  still  longed  to  see  her,  he  no  longer  hoped 
it.  As  a climax,  want  returned,  and  he  felt  its  icy 
breath  close  to  him  and  behind  him.  (^In  all  these 
torments,  and  for  a long  time,  he  had  discontinued 
his  work,  and  nothing  is  more  dangerous  than  dis- 
continued work ; for  it  is  a habit  which  a man  loses, 
— a habit  easy  to  give  up,  but  difficult  to  re-acquire. 

A certain  amount  of  reverie  is  good,  like  a naf^ 
cotic  taken  in  discreet  doses.  It  lulls  to  sleep  the 
at  times  harsh  fevers  of  the  working  brain,  and  pro- 
duces in  the  mind  a soft  and  fresh  vapor  which  cor- 
rect the  too  sharp  outlines  of  pure  thought,  fills  up 
gaps  and  spaces  here  and  there,  and  rounds  the 
angles  of  ideas.  But  excess  of  reverie  submerges 
and  drowns,  and  woe  to  the  mental  workman  who 
allows  himself  to  fall  entirely  from  thinking  into 
reverie  ! He  believes  that  he  can  easily  rise  again, 
and  says  that,  after  all,  it  is  the  same  thing.  Error ! 


THE  LARK’S  FIELD. 


61 


Thought  is  the  labor  of  the  intellect,  and  reverie 
its  voluptuousness ; substituting  reverie  for  thought 
is  confounding  poison  with  wholesome  food.  Marius, 
it  will  be  remembered,  began  with  that ; passion 
arrived,  and  finished  by  hurling  him  into  object- 
less and  bottomless  chimeras.  In  such  a state  a 
man  only  leaves  his  home  to  go  and  dream,  and  it 
is  an  indolent  childishness,  a tumultuous  and  stag- 
nant gulf,  and  in  proportion  as  work  diminishes, 
necessities  increase.  This  is  a law ; man  in  a dreamy 
state  is  naturally  lavish  and  easily  moved,  and  the 
relaxed  mind  can  no  longer  endure  the  contracted 
life.  There  is,  in  this  mode  of  existence,  good 
mingled  with  evil,  for  if  the  softening  be  mourn- 
ful, the  generosity  is  healthy  and  good.  But  the 
poor,  generous,  and  noble-minded  man  who  does 
not  work  is  ruined;  the  resources  dry  up,  and  neces- 
sity arises.  This  is  a fatal  incline,  on  which  the 
most  honest  and  the  strongest  men  are  dragged 
down  like  the  weakest  and  the  most  vicious,  and 
which  leads  to  one  of  two  holes,  ■ — ■ suicide  or  crime. 
Through  going  out  to  dream,  a day  arrives  when  a 
man  goes  out  to  throw  himself  into  the  water.  Ex- 
cess of  dreaminess  produces  such  men  as  Escousse 
and  Libras.  Marius  went  down  this  incline  slowly, 
with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  her  whom  he  no  longer  saw. 
What  we  have  just  written  seems  strange,  and  yet  it 
is  true,  — the  recollection  of  an  absent  being  is  illu- 
mined in  the  gloom  of  the  heart ; the  more  it  disap- 
pears the  more  radiant  it  appears,  and  the  despairing 
and  obscure  soul  sees  this  light  on  its  horizon,  the 
star  of  its  inner  night.  She  was  Marius’s  entire 


62 


THE  EUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


thought,  he  dreamed  of  nothing  else.  He  felt  con- 
fusedly that  his  old  coat  was  becoming  an  outrageous 
coat,  and  that  his  new  coat  was  growing  an  old  coat, 
that  his  boots  were  wearing  out,  that  his  hat  was 
wearing  out,  that  his  shirts  were  wearing  out,  — that 
is  to  say,  that  his  life  was  wearing  out ; and  he  said 
to  himself.  Could  I but  see  her  again  before  I die ! 

One  sole  sweet  idea  was  left  him,  and  it  was  that 
she  had  loved  him,  that  her  glance  had  told  him  so  ; 
and  that  she  did  not  know  his  name  but  that  she 
knew  his  soul,  and  that  howmver  mysterious  the  spot 
might  be  wdiere  she  now  was,  she  loved  him  still. 
jMight  she  not  be  dreaming  of  him  as  he  was  dream- 
ing of  her?  At  times  in  those  inexplicable  hours  which 
every  loving  heart  knows,  as  he  had  only  reason  to 
be  sad,  and  yet  felt  within  him  a certain  quivering  of 
joy,  he  said  to  himself,  “Her  thoughts  are  visiting 
me,”  and  then  added,  “ Perhaps  my  thoughts  also  go 
to  her.”  This  illusion,  at  which  he  shook  his  head  a 
moment  after,  sometimes,  liowever,  contrived  to  cast 
rays  which  resembled  hope  into  his  soul  at  intervals. 
Now  and  then,  especially  at  “that  evening  hour  which 
most  saddens  dreamers,  he  poured  out  upon  virgin 
paper  the  pure,  impersonal,  and  ideal  reveries  with 
which  love  filled  his  brain.  He  called  this  “ writing 
to  her.”  We  must  not  suppose,  however,  that  his 
reason  was  in  disorder,  quite  the  contrary.  He  had 
lost  the  faculty  of  w^orking  and  going  firmly  toAvard  a 
determined  object,  but  he  retained  clear-sightedness 
and  rectitude  more  fully  than  ever.  Marius  saw  by 
a calm  and  real,  though  singular,  light,  all  that  was 
taking  place  before  him,  even  the  most  indifferent 


THE  LARK’S  FIELD. 


63 


men  and  facts,  and  spoke  correctly  of  everything  with 
a sort  of  honest  weariness  and  candid  disinterested- 
ness. His  judgment,  almost  detached  from  hope, 
soared  far  above  him.  In  this  state  of  mind  nothing 
escaped  him,  nothing  deceived  him,  and  he  discovered 
at  each  moment  the  bases  of  life,  — humanity  and 
destiny.  (JIappy,  even  in  agony,  is  the  man  to  whom 
God  has  granted  a soul  worthy  of  love  and  misfor- 
tune !^flle  who  has  not  seen  the  things  of  this 
world  and  the  heart  of  man  in  this  double  light  has 
seen  nothing  of  the  truth  and  knows  notlung^ 

soul  that  loves  and  suffers  is  in  a sublime 

Days  succeeded  each  other,  and  nothing  new  oc- 
curred ; it  really  seemed  to  him  that  the  gloomy 
space  which  he  still  had  to  traverse  was  becoming 
daily  reduced.  He  fancied  that  he  could  already 
see  distinctly  the  brink  of  the  bottomless  abyss. 

“ What ! ” he  repeated  to  himself,  “ shall  I not  sec 
'her  again  before  that  takes  place?  ” 

After  going  up  the  Rue  St.  Jacques,  leaving  the 
barribre  on  one  side,  and  following  for  some  distance 
the  old  inner  boulevard,  you  reach  the  Rue  de  la 
Saute,  then  the  Glacifere,  and  just  before  coming  to 
the  small  stream  of  the  Gobelins,  you  notice  a sort  of 
field,  the  only  spot  on  the  long  and  monotonous  belt 
of  Parisian  boulevards,  where  Ruysdael  would  be 
tempted  to  sit  down.  I know  not  whence  the  pic- 
turesque aspect  is  obtained,  for  ybu  merely  see  a 
green  field  crossed  by  ropes,  on  which  rags  hang  to 
dry  ; an  old  house  built  in  the  time  of  Louis  XIII., 
with  its  high-pitched  roof  quaintly  pierced  with. 


64 


THE  RUE  PLCMET  IDYLL. 


garret-windows ; broken-down  grating ; a little  water 
between  poplar  trees ; women’s  laughter  and  voices  ; 
on  the  horizon  you  see  the  Pantheon,  the  tree  of  the 
Sourds-Muets,  the  Val  de  Gr^ce,  black,  stunted,  fan- 
tastic, amusing,  and  magnificent,  and  far  in  the  back- 
ground the  stern  square  towers  of  Notre  Dame.  As 
the  place  is  worth  the  trouble  of  visiting,  no  one  goes 
there  ; scarce  a cart  or  a wagon  passes  in  a quarter 
of  an  hour.  It  once  happened  that  JMarius’s  solitary 
rambles  led  him  to  this  field,  and  on  tliat  day  there 
was  a rarity  on  the  boulevard,  a passer-by.  Marius, 
really  struck  by  the  almost  savage  grace  of  the  field, 
asked  him : “ What  is  the  name  of  this  spot  ? ” 

The  passer-by  answered,  “ It  is  the  Lark’s  field ; ” 
and  added,  “ It  was  here  that  Ulbach  killed  the 
shepherdess  of  Ivry.” 

But,  after  the  words  “ the  Lark,”  Marius  heard  no 
more,  for  a word  at  times  suffices  to  produce  a con- 
gelation in  a man’s  dreamy  condition : the  whole 
thought  is  condensed  round  an  idea,  and  is  no  longer  ‘ 
capable  of  any  other  perception.  The  Lark,  that  was 
the  appellation  which  had  taken  the  place  of  Ursule 
in  the  depths  of  Marius’s  melancholy.  “ Stay,”  he 
said,  with  that  sort  of  unreasoning  stupor  peculiar  to 
such  mysterious  asides,  “ this  is  her  field,  I shall  learn 
here  where  she  lives.”  This  was  absurd  but  irresis- 
tible, and  he  came  daily  to  this  Lark’s  field. 


CHAPTER  11. 


CRIMES  IX  EMBRYO  INCUBATED  IN  PRISONS, 

Javert’s  triumph  at  the  Maison  Gorbeau  had 
seemed  complete,  but  was  not  so.  In  the  first  place, 
and  that  was  his  chief  anxiety,  Javert  had  not  been 
able  to  make  a prisoner  of  the  prisoner ; the  assas- 
sinated man  who  escapes  is  more  suspicious  than  the 
assassin,  and  it  was  probable  that  this  personage,  such 
a precious  capture  for  the  bandits,  might  be  an 
equally  good  prize  for  the  authorities.  Next,  Mont- 
parnasse slipped  out  of  Javert’s  clutches,  and  he  must 
wait  for  another  opportunity  to  lay  hands  on  that 
“ cursed  dandy.”  Montparnasse,  in  fact,  having  met 
Eponine  on  the  boulevard,  keeping  watch,  went  off 
with  her,  preferring  to  play  the  Nemorino  wdth  the 
daughter  rather  than  Schinderhannes  ivith  the  father, 
and  it  was  lucky  for  him  that  he  did  so,  as  he  was 
now  free.  As  for  Eponine,  Javert  “ nailed  ” her,  but 
it  was  a poor  consolation,  and  sent  her  to  join  Azelma 
at  the  jMadelonnettes,  Lastly,  in  the  drive  from  No. 
50-52  to  La  Force,  one  of  the  chief  men  arrested, 
Claquesous,  had  disappeared.  No  one  knew  how  he 
did  it,  and  the  sergeants  and  agents  did  not  at  all 
understand  it ; he  had  turned  into  vapor,  slipped 
through  the  handcuffs,  and  passed  through  a crack. 

VOL.  IV.  5 


66 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


in  the  coach  ; but  no  one  could  say  anything  except 
that  on  reaching  the  prison  there  was  no  Claquesous. 
There  was  in  this  either  enchantment  or  a police 
trick.  Had  Claquesous  melted  away  in  the  darkness 
like  a snow-flake  in  the  water?  Was  there  an  un- 
avowed connivance  on  the  part  of  the  agents  ? Did 
this  man  belong  to  the  double  enigma  of  disorder  and 
order?  Had  this  Sphynx  its  front  paws  in  crimes, 
and  its  hind  paws  in  the  police  ? Javert  did  not 
accept  these  combinations,  and  struggled  against 
such  compromises;  but  his  squad  contained  other 
inspectors  besides  himself,  and  though  his  subordi- 
nates, perhaps  more  thoroughly  initiated  in  the  secrets 
of  the  Prefecture,  and  Claquesous  was  such  a villain 
that  he  might  be  a very  excellent  agent.  To  be  on 
such  intimate  juggling  relations  with  the  night  is 
excellent  for  plunder  and  admirable  for  the  police, 
and  there  are  double-edged  rogues  of  the  sort.  How- 
ever this  might  be,  Claquesous  was  lost  and  could 
not  be  found,  and  Javert  seemed  more  irritated  than 
surprised.  As  for  Marius,  “that  scrub  of  a lawyer 
who  was  probably  frightened,”  and  whose  name  he 
had  forgotten,  Javert  did  not  trouble  himself  much 
about  him,  and  besides,  a lawyer  can  always  be 
found.  But,  was  he  only  a lawyer  ? 

The  examination  began,  and  the  magistrate  thought 
it  advisable  not  to  put  one  of  the  members  of  the 
Patron  Minette  band  in  solitary  confinement,  as  it 
was  hoped  he  might  chatter.  This  was  Brujon,  the 
hairy  man  of  the  Rue  du  Petit  Banquier ; he  was 
turned  into  the  Charlemagne  Court,  and  the  eyes  of 
the  spies  were  kept  upon  him.  This  name  of  Brujon 


CRIMES  IN  EMBRYO  INCUBATED  IN  PRISONS.  67 

is  one  of  the  recollections  of  La  Force.  In  the  hide- 
ous yard  called  the  Batiment  Neuf, — which  the  gover- 
nor named  the  Court  of  St.  Bernard,  and  the  robbers 
christened  the  Lion’s  Den,  — and  on  the  wall  covered 
with  scars  and  leprosy,  that  rose  on  the  left  to  the 
height  of  the  roof,  and  close  to  a rusty  old  iron  gate 
which  led  to  the  old  chapel  of  the  ducal  house  of  La 
Force,  converted  into  a sleeping-ward  for  prisoners, 
there  might  have  been  seen,  twelve  years  ago,  a 
species  of  Bastille,  clumsily  engraved  with  a nail  in 
the  stone,  and  beneath  it  this  signature,  — 

Brujon,  1811. 

The  Brujon  of  1811  was  the  father  of  the  Brujon  of 
1832.  The  latter,  of  whom  we  could  only  catch  a 
glimpse  in  the  Gorbeau  trap,  was  a veiT  crafty  and 
artful  young  fellow,  with  a downcast  and  plaintive 
air.  It  was  in  consequence  of  this  air  that  the  mag- 
istrate turned  him  loose,  believing  him  more  useful 
in  the  Charlemagne  yard  than  in  a secret  cell. 
Robbers  do  not  interrupt  their  labors  because  they 
are,  in  the  hands  of  justice,  and  do  not  trouble  them- 
selves about  such  a trifle.  Being  in  prison  for  one 
crime  does  not  prevent  another  being  commenced. 
There  are  artists  who  have  a picture  in  the  Exhibi- 
tion, but  for  all  that  work  at  a new  one  in  their 
studio.  Brujon  seemed  stupefied  by  prison;  he 
might  be  seen  standing  for  hours  in  the  yard  near  the 
canteen  man’s  stall,  contemplating  like  an  idiot  the 
mean  tariff  of  prices  of  the  canteen  which  began  with 
“garlic,  fifty-two  centimes,”  and  ended  with  “cigar, 


68 


THE  HUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


five  centimes.”  Or  else  he  passed  his  time  in  trem- 
bling, shaking  his  teeth,  declaring  he  had  the  fever, 
and  inquiring  whether  one  of  the  twenty-six  beds  in 
the  Infirmary  were  vacant. 

All  at  once,  toward  the  second  half  of  February, 
1832,  it  was  discovered  that  Brujon,  the  sleepy- 
looking  man,  had  had  three  messages  delivered,  not 
in  his  own  name,  but  in  those  of  his  comrades,  by 
the  prison  porters.  These  messages  had  cost  him 
fifty  sous  altogether,  an  exorbitant  sum,  which  at- 
tracted the  sergeant’s  attention.  After  making  in- 
quiries and  consulting  the  tariff  of  messages  hung 
up  in  the  prisoners’  visiting  room,  this  authority 
found  out  that  the  fifty  sous  were  thus  divided, — 
one  message  to  the  Pantheon,  ten  sous ; one  to  Val 
de  Grfice,  fifteen  sous ; and  one  to  the  Barribre  de 
Grenelle,  twenty-five  sous,  the  latter  being  the  dearest 
in  the  whole  list.  Now  at  these  very  places  resided 
these  very  dangerous  prowlers  at  the  barribre;  Krui- 
deniers  alias  Bizarro,  Glorious  an  ex-convict,  and 
Stop-the-coach,  and  the  attention  of  the  police  was 
directed  to  these  through  this  incident.  It  was  as- 
sumed that  these  men  belonged  to  Patron  Minette, 
of  which  band  two  chiefs,  Babet  and  Gueulemer, 
were  locked  up.  It  was  supposed  that  Brujon’s 
messages,  which  were  not  delivered  at  the  houses, 
but  to  persons  waiting  in  the  street,  contained  infor- 
mation about  some  meditated  crime.  The  three 
ruffians  were  arrested,  and  the  police  believed  they 
had  scented  some  machination  of  Brujon’s. 

A week  after  these  measures  had  been  taken,  a 
night  watchman  who  was  inspecting  the  ground-floor 


CRIMES  IN  EMBRYO  INCUBATED  IN  PRISONS.  69 


sleeping  ward  of  the  Bfitiment  Neuf,  was  just  placing 
his  chestnut  in  the  box  (this  was  the  method  em- 
ployed to  make  sure  that  the  watchmen  did  their 
duty  properly ; every  hour  a chestnut  must  be  dropped 
into  all  the  boxes  nailed  on  the  doors  of  the  sleeping 
wards),  when  he  saw  through  the  peep-hole  Brujon 
sitting  up  ill  bed  and  writing  something.  The  watch- 
man went  in,  Brujon  was  placed  in  solitary  confine- 
ment for  a month,  but  what  he  had  written  could 
not  be  found.  Hence  the  police  were  just  as  wise  as 
before.  One  thing  is  certain,  that  on  the  next  day  a 
“ postilion  ” was  thrown  from  Charlemagne  into  the 
Lion’s  Den  over  the  five-storied  building  that  sepa- 
rated the  two  yards.  Prisoners  give  the  name  of 
“ postilion  ” to  a ball  of  artistically  moulded  bread, 
which  is  sent  to  “ Ireland,”  that  is  to  say,  thrown 
from  one  yard  into  another.  This  ball  falls  into  the 
yard,  the  man  who  picks  it  up  opens  it  and  finds  in 
it  a note  addressed  to  some  prisoner  in  the  yard.  If 
it  be  a prisoner  who  finds  the  note  he  delivers  it  to 
the  right  address ; if  it  be  a guard,  or  one  of  those 
secretly-bought  prisoners,  called  “ sheep  ” in  prisons, 
and  “ foxes  ” at  the  galleys,  the  note  is  carried  to  the 
wicket  and  delivered  to  the  police.  This  time  the 
postilion  reached  its  address,  although  the  man  for 
whom  it  was  intended  was  at  the  time  in  a separate 
cell.  This  person  was  no  other  than  Babet,  one  of 
the  four  heads  of  Patron  IMinette.  It  contained  a 
rolled-up  paper,  on  which  only  two  lines  were 
written. 

“Babet,  there’s  a job  to  be  done  in  the  Eue 
Plumet,  a gate  opening  on  the  garden.” 


70 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


It  was  what  Brujon  had  written  during  the  night. 
In  spite  of  male  and  female  searchers,  Babet  contrived 
to  send  the  note  from  La  Force  to  the  Salpetrifere  to 
a “ lady  friend  ” of  his  locked  up  there.  She  in  her 
turn  handed  the  note  to  a girl  she  knew,  of  the 
name  of  Magnon,  whom  the  police  were  actively 
seeking,  but  had  not  yet  arrested.  Tins  Magnon,  of 
whose  name  the  reader  has  already  caught  a glimpse, 
was  closely  connected  with  the  Th^nardiers,  as  we 
shall  show  presently,  and  by  going  to  see  ^Iponine 
was  able  to  serve  as  a bridge  between  the  Salpe- 
tribre  and  the  Madelonnettes.  At  this  very  period 
Eponine  and  Azelma  were  discharged  for  want  of 
evidence,  and  when  Eponine  went  out,  Magnon,  who 
was  watching  for  her  at  the  gate  of  the  Madelon- 
nettes, handed  her  the  note  from  Brujon  to  Babet, 
with  instructions  to  look  into  the  affair.  Eponine 
went  to  the  Rue  Plumet,  recognized  the  grating  and 
the  garden,  observed  the  house,  watched  for  some 
days,  and  then  carried  to  Magnon  a biscuit,  which 
the  latter  sent  to  Babet’s  mistress  at  the  Salpetrifere. 
A biscuit,  in  the  dark  language  of  prisons,  means, 
“ Nothing  to  be  done.” 

In  less  than  a week  from  this,  Babet  and  Brujon 
happened  to  meet,  as  one  was  going  before  the 
magistrate,  the  other  returning.  “ Well,”  Brujon 
asked,  “ the  Rue  P.  ? ” “ Biscuit,”  Babet  answered. 
Thus  the  foetus  of  crime  engendered  by  Brujon  at 
La  Force  became  abortive ; but  this  abortion  had 
consequences,  for  all  that,  perfectly  foreign  to 
Brujon’s  plans,  as  ^vill  be  seen.  In  fancying  we 
are  tying  one  thread  we  often  tie  another. 


CHAPTER  III. 


FATHER  MABCEUF  HAS  AX  APPARITIOX. 

Marius  no  longer  called  on  any  one,  but  at  times 
he  came  across  Father  Maboeuf.  While  Marius  was 
slowly  descending  the  mournful  steps  which  might 
be  called  the  cellar  stairs,  and  lead  to  places  without 
light,  on  which  you  hear  the  footsteps  of  the  prosper- 
ous above  your  head,  M.  iMaboeuf  was  also  descend- 
ing. The  Flora  of  Cauteretz  did  not  sell  at  all  now, 
and  the  indigo  experiments  had  not  been  successful 
in  the  little  garden  of  Austerlitz,  which  was  badly 
situated.  M.  Maboeuf  could  only  cultivate  in  it  a 
few  rare  plants  which  are  fond  of  moisture  and 
shade.  For  all  that,  though,  he  was  not  discour- 
aged ; he  had  obtained  a strip  of  gi’ound  at  the  Jar- 
din  des  Plantes  in  a good  situation,  for  making  “ at 
his  own  charge  ” experiments  on  indigo.  To  do  this 
he  pledged  the  plates  of  his  Flora,  and  he  reduced 
his  breakfast  to  two  eggs,  of  which  he  left  one  for 
his  old  servant,  whose  wages  he  had  not  paid  for 
fifteen  months  past.  And  very  frequently  his  break- 
fast was  his  sole  meal.  He  no  longer  laughed  -with 
his  childish  laugh,  he  had  grown  morose,  and  de- 
clined to  receive  visitors,  and  Marius  did  well  not 
to  call  on  him.  At  times,  at  the  hour  when  M. 


72 


THE  EUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


Maboeuf  proceeded  to  the  Jardia  des  Plantes,  the 
old  man  and  the  young  man  passed  each  other  on 
the  Boulevard  de  I’Hopital ; they  did  not  speak,  and 
merely  shook  their  heads  sorro’wfully.  It  is  a sad 
thing  that  there  comes  a moment  when  misery  un- 
knots friendships.  There  were  two  friends : there 
are  two  passers-by  I 

Royol  the  publisher  was  dead,  and  now  M.  Maboeuf 
knew  nothing  but  his  books,  his  garden,  and  his 
indigo  ; these  were  the  three  shapes  which  happiness, 
pleasure,  and  hope  had  assumed  for  him.  They 
were  sufficient  to  live  for,  and  he  would  say  to  him- 
self ; “ When  I have  made  my  blue-balls,  I shall  be 
rich  ; I will  redeem  my  plates  from  the  Mont  de 
Piet4,  bring  my  Flora  into  fashion  again  with  char- 
latanism, the  big  drum,  and  advertisements  in  the 
papers,  and  buy,  I know  where,  a copy  of  Pierre  de 
Medine’s  “Art  of  Navigation,”  with  woodcuts,  edition 
1539.”  In  the  mean  while,  he  toiled  all  day  at  his 
indigo  patch,  and  at  night  went  home  to  water  his 
garden  and  read  his  books.  M.  Maboeuf  at  this 
period  was  close  on  eighty  years  of  age. 

One  evening  he  had  a strange  apparition.  He  had 
returned  home  while  it  was  still  daylight,  and  found 
that  Mother  Plutarch,  whose  health  was  not  so  good 
as  it  might  be,  had  gone  to  bed.  He  dined  upon  a 
bone  on  which  a little  meat  remained  and  a lump  of 
bread  which  he  had  found  on  the  kitchen  table,  and 
was  seated  on  a stone  post  which  acted  as  a bench 
in  his  garden.  Near  this  bench  there  was,  after  the 
fashion  of  old  kitchen-gardens,  a sort  of  tall  build- 
ing of  planks  in  a very  rickety  condition,  a hutch  on 


FATHER  MABGEUF  HAS  AN  APPARITION.  73 


the  ground-floor,  and  a store-room  on  the  first  floor. 
There  were  no  rabbits  in  the  hutch,  but  there  wei’e 
a few  apples,  the  remnant  of  the  winter  stock,  in 
the  store-room.  M.  Maboeuf  was  reading,  with  the 
help  of  his  spectacles,  two  books  which  interested 
him  greatly,  and  also,  a thing  more  serious  at  his 
age,  preoccupied  him.  His  natural  timidity  ren- 
dered him  prone  to  accept  superstitions.  The  first 
of  these  books  was  the  celebrated  treatise  of  Pres- 
ident Delancre,  “ On  the  Inconstancy  of  Spirits,” 
and  the  other  was  the  quarto  work  of  Mutor  de  la 
Rubaudibre,  “ On  the  Devils  of  Vauvert  and  the 
Goblins  of  la  Bibvre.”  The  latter  book  interested 
him  the  more,  because  his  garden  had  been  in  olden 
times  one  of  the  places  haunted  by  the  goblins. 
Twilight  was  beginning  to  whiten  what  is  above  and 
blacken  what  is  below.  While  reading,  IM.  Maboeuf 
looked  over  the  book  which  he  held  in  his  hand  at 
his  plants,  and  among  others  at  a magnificent  rhodo- 
dendron which  was  one  of  his  consolations.  Four 
days  of  wiud  and  sun  had  passed  without  a drop  of 
rain,  the  stems  were  bending,  the  buds  drooping,  the 
leaves  falling,  and  they  all  required  watering ; this 
rhododendron  especially  looked  in  a very  sad  way. 
M.  Maboeuf  was  one  of  those  men  for  whom  plants 
have  souls  ; he  had  been  at  work  all  day  in  his  indigo 
patch,  and  was  worn  out  with  fatigue,  but  for  all 
that  he  rose,  laid  his  books  on  the  bench,  and  walked 
in  a bent  posture  and  with  tottering  steps,  up  to  the 
well.  But  when  he  seized  the  chain  he  had  not  suf- 
ficient strength  to  unhook  it ; he  then  turned  and 
took  a glance  of  agony  at  the  sky,  which  was  glit- 


74 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


tering  ^Yitll  stars.  The  evening  had  that  serenity 
which  crusiies  human  sorrow  under  a lugubrious  and 
eternal  joy.  The  night  promised  to  be  as  dry  as  the 
day  had  been. 

“ Stars  everywhere  ! ” the  old  man  thought,  “ not 
the  smallest  cloud  ! not  a drop  of  water  ! ” 

And  his  head,  which  had  been  raised  a moment 
before,  fell  again  on  his  chest,  then  he  looked  once 
more  at  the  sky,  murmuring,  — 

“ A little  dew  ! a little  pity  ! ” 

He  tried  once  again  to  unhook  the  well-chain,  but 
could  not  succeed  ; at  this  moment  he  heard  a voice, 
saying,  — 

“Father  Maboeuf,  shall  I water  the  garden  for  you?  ” 
At  the  same  time  a sound  like  that  of  a wild  beast 
breaking  through  was  heard  in  the  hedge,  and  he  saw 
a tall  thin  girl  emerge,  who  stood  before  him,  looking 
at  him  boldly.  She  looked  less  like  a human  being 
than  some  form  engendered  of  the  darkness.  Before 
Father  Maboeuf,  whom,  as  we  said,  a trifle  terrified, 
found  time  to  answer  a syllable,  this  creature,  whose 
movements  had  in  the  gloom  a sort  of  strange  sud- 
denness, had  unhooked  the  chain,  let  down  and 
drawn  up  the  bucket,  and  filled  the  watering-pot ; 
and  the  old  gentleman  saw  this  apparition,  which 
was  barefooted  and  wore  a ragged  skirt,  running 
along  the  flower-beds  and  distributing  life  around 
her.  The  sound  of  the  water  patteiing  on  the  leaves 
filled  M.  Maboeuf ’s  soul  with  ravishment,  and  the 
rhododendron  now  seemed  to  him  to  be  happy.  The 
first  bucket  emptied,  the  girl  drew  a second,  then  a 
third,  and  watered  the  whole  garden.  To  see  her 


FATHEE  MABCEUF  HAS  AN  APPARITION.  75 

moving  thus  along  the  walks  in  which  her  outline 
appeared  quite  black,  and  waving  on  her  long  thin 
arms  her  ragged  shawl,  she  bore  a striking  resem- 
blance to  a bat.  When  she  had  finished.  Father 
INIaboeuf  went  up  to  her  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  and 
laid  his  hand  on  her  forehead. 

“ God  mil  bless  you,”  he  said,  “ you  are  an  angel, 
since  you  take  care  of  fiowers.” 

“ No,”  she  replied,  “ I am  the  Devil,  but  I don’t 
care.” 

The  old  man  continued,  without  waiting  for  or 
hearing  the  reply,  — 

“ What  a pity  that  I am  so  unhappy  and  so  poor, 
and  can  do  nothing  for  you  ! ” 

“You  can  do  something,”  she  said. 

“ AVhat  is  it  ! ” 

“ Tell  me  where  M.  Marius  lives.” 

The  old  man  did  not  understand. 

“ What  Monsieur  Marius  ? ” 

He  raised  his  glassy  eyes  and  seemed  seeking 
something  which  had  vanished, 

“ A young  man  who  used  to  come  here.” 

“ Ah,  yes ! ” he  exclaimed,  “ I know  whom  you 
mean. . Wait  a minute ! Monsieur  Marius,  Baron 
IMarius  Pontmercy,  pardieu ! lives,  or  rather  he  does 
not  live  — well,  I do  not  know.” 

While  speaking,  he  had  stooped  to  straighten  a 
rhododendron  branch,  and  continued, — 

“ Ah  yes,  I remember  now.  He  passes  very  fre- 
quently along  the  boulevard,  and  goes  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Lark’s  field  in  the  Rue  Croulebarbe. 
Look  for  him  there,  he  will  not  be  difficult  to  find.” 


7G 


THE  EUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


When  M.  Maboeuf  raised  his  head  again,  he  was 
alone,  and  the  girl  had  disappeared.  He  was  de- 
cidedly a little  frightened. 

“ Really,”  he  thought,  “ if  my  garden  were  not 
watered,  I should  fancy  that  it  was  a ghost.” 

An  hour  after,  when  he  was  in  bed,  this  idea  re- 
turned to  him,  and  while  falling  asleep,  he  said  to 
himself  confusedly  at  the  disturbed  moment  when 
thought  gradually  assumes  the  form  of  dream  in  order 
to  pass  through  sleep,  like  the  fabulous  bird  which 
metamorphoses  itself  into  a fish  to  cross  the  sea, — 
“ Really  now,  this  affair  greatly  resembles  what  La 
Rubaudihre  records  about  the  goblins.  Could  it  have 
been  a ghost  ? ” 


-X 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MARIUS  HAS  AX  APPARITIOX. 

A FEW  clays  after  this  wsit  of  a ghost  to  Father 
IMaboeuf,  — it  was  on  a iMonday,  the  day  of  the  five- 
franc  piece  which  IMarius  borrowed  of  Courfeyi’ac  for 
Thenardier,  — Marius  placed  the  coin  in  his  pocket, 
and  before  carrying  it  to  the  prison,  resolved  to  “take 
a little  walk,”  hoping  that  on  his  return  this  would 
make  him  work.  It  was,  however,  eternally  thus. 
As  soon  as  he  rose,  he  sat  down  before  a book  and 
paper  to  set  about  some  translation,  and  his  work  at 
this  time  was  the  translation  into  French  of  a cele- 
brated German  quarrel,  the  controversy  betw'een  Gans 
and  Savigny.  He  took  up  Gans,  he  took  up  Savigny, 
read  four  pages,  tried  to  write  one  but  could  not, 
saw  a star  between  his  paper  and  himself,  and  got 
up  from  his  chair,  saying,  “ I will  go  out,  that  will 
put  me  in  the  humor,”  and  he  proceeded  to  the  Lark’s 
field,  where  he  saw  the  star  more  than  ever,  and 
Gans  and  Savigny  less.  He  went  home,  tried  to 
resume  his  task,  and  did  not  succeed ; he  could  not 
join  a single  one  of  the  threads  broken  in  his  brain, 
and  so  said  to  himself,  “ I will  not  go  out  to-morrowq 
for  it  prevents  me  from  working.”  But  he  went  out 
every  day. 


V4v 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


,78 

He  lived  in  the  Lark’s  field  more  than  at  Cour- 
^ feyrac’s  lodging,  and  his  right  address  was  Boulevard 
de  la  Sante,  at  the  seventh  tree  past  the  Rue  Croule- 
) barbe.  On  this  morning  he  had  left  the  seventh  tree 
and  was  seated  on  the  parapet  of  the  bridge  over  the 
little  stream.  The  merry  sunbeams  were  flashing 
through  the  expanded  and  luminous  leaves.  He 
thought  of  “ Her,”  and  his  reverie,  becoming  a re- 
proach, fell  back  on  himself ; he  thought  bitterly  of 
the  indolence  and  mental  paralysis  which  were  gain- 
ing on  him,  and  of  the  night  which  constantly  grew 
denser  before  him,  so  that  he  could  no  longer  even 
Nsfc.  see  the  sup?}  Still,  through  this  painful  evolution  of 
indistinct  ideas  which  was  not  even  a soliloquy,  as 
action  was  so  weak  in  him,  and  he  had  no  longer  the 
strength  to  try  to  feel  sad ; through  this  melancholy 
absorption,  we  say,  sensations  from  without  reached 
him.  He  heard  behind,  below,  and  on  both  sides  of 
him,  the  washerwomen  of  the  Gobelins  beating  their 
linen,  and  above  him  the  birds  twittering  and  singing 
in  the  elms.  On  one  side  the  sound  of  liberty,  happy 
carelessness,  and  winged  leisure,  on  the  other  the 
sound  of  labor.  Two  joyous  sounds  made  him  think 
deeply  and  almost  reflect.  All  at  once  he  heard 
amid  his  depressed  esctasy  a voice  he  knew,  that 
said,  — 

“ Ah,  here  he  is  ! ” 

He  raised  his  eyes  and  recognized  the  unhappy  girl 
who  had  come  to  him  one  morning,  Eponine,  the 
elder  of  Thenardier’s  daughters ; he  now  knew  what 
her  name  was.  Strange  to  say,  she  had  grown  poorer 
and  more  beautiful,  two  things  which  he  had  not 


MARIUS  HAS  AH  APPARITION. 


79 


thought  possible.  She  had  accomplished  a double 
progress,  toward  light  and  toward  distress.  Her  feet 
were  bare  and  her  clothes  torn,  as  on  the  day  when 
she  so  boldly  entered  his  room,  but  the  tatters  were 
two  months  older,  the  holes  larger,  and  the  rags 
filthier.  She  had  the  same  hoarse  voice,  the  same 
forehead  VTinkled  and  bronzed  by  exposure,  the  same 
free,  absent,  and  wandering  look,  but  she  had,  in 
addition,  on  her  countenance,  something  startled  and 
lamentable,  which  passing  through  prisons  adds  to 
misery.  She  had  pieces  of  straw  and  hay  in  her  h^iir, 
not  that,  like  Ophelia,  she  had  gone  mad  through 
contagion  with  Hamlet’s  lunacy,  but  because  she  had 
slept  in  some  stable-loft. 

And  with  all  that  she  was  beautiful.  What  a star 
thou  art,  0 youth  ! 

She  had  stopped  in  front  of  Marius  with  a little 
joy  on  her  livid  face,  and  something  like  a smile,  and 
it  was  some  minutes  ere  she  could  speak. 

“ I have  found  you  ! ” she  said  at  last.  “ Father 
IMaboeuf  was  right,  it  was  in  this  boulevard  ! How 
I have  sought  you,  if  you  only  knew  ! Do  you  know 
that  I have  been  in  quod  for  a fortnight  ? They  let 
me  go  as  there  was  no  charge  against  me,  and  be- 
sides I had  not  attained  years  of  discretion  by  two 
months.  Oh,  how  I have  looked  for  you  the  last 
six  weeks  ! So  you  no  longer  live  down  there  ? ” 

“No,”  said  Marius. 

“ Ah,  I understand,  on  account  of  that  thing ; 
well,  such  disturbances  are  unpleasant,  and  you 
moved,  [^illoh,  why  do  you  wear  an  old  hat  like 
that  ? A young  man  like  you  ought  to  be  hand- 


80 


THE  HUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


soniely  dressed.  Do  you  know,  Monsieur  Marius, 
that  M.  Maboeuf  calls  you  Baron  Marius,  • — I forget 
what,  but  you  are  not  a Baron,  are  you  ? Barons 
are  old  swells,  who  walk  in  front  of  the  Luxembourg 
Palace,  where  there  is  the  most  sun,  and  read  the 
Qnotidienne  for  a sou.  I went  once  with  a letter  for 
a Baron  who  was  like  that,  and  more  than  a hundred 
years  of  age.  Tell  me,  where  do  you  live  now  ? ” 
jMarius  did  not  answer. 

“ Ah,”  she  added,  “ you  have  a hole  in  your  shirt- 
front,  I must  mend  it  for  you.”  ~1 

Then  she  continued  with  an  expression  which, 
gradually  grew  gloomier,  — 

“ You  do  not  seem  pleased  to  see  me  ? ” 

Marius  held  his  tongue.  She  was  also  silent  for 
a moment,  and  then  exclaimed,  — 

“ If  I liked,  I could  compel  you  to  look  pleased.” 

“ What  do  you  mean  ? ” Marius  asked. 

She  bit  her  lip,  and  apparently  hesitated,  as  if 
suffering  from  some  internal  struggle.  At  length 
she  seemed  to  make  up  her  mind. 

“ All  the  worse,  but  no  matter,  you  look  sad  and 
I wish  you  to  be  pleased,  only  promise  me,  though, 
that  you  will  laugh,  for  I want  to  see  you  laugh 
and  hear  you  say,  ‘Ah!  that  is  famous!’  Poor 
Monsieur  Marius ! you  know  you  promised  you 
would  give  me  all  I wanted.” 

“ Y’es,  but  speak,  can’t  you  ? ” 

She  looked  at  Marius  intently  and  said,  “ I have 
the  address.” 

Marius  turned  pale,  and  all  his  blood  flowed  to 
his  heart. 


MARIUS  HAS  AN  APPARITION. 


81 


“ What  address  ? ” 

“ The  address  which  you  asked  me  for  ; ” and  she 
added,  as  if  with  a great  effort,  “ tlie  address,  — you 
surely  understand  ? ” 

“ Yes,”  stammered  Marius. 

“ The  young  lady’s.” 

These  words  uttered,  she  heaved  a deep  sigh. 
iNIarius  leaped  from  the  parapet  on  which  he  was 
sitting,  and  wildly  seized  her  hand. 

“ Oh,  lead  me  to  it ! Tell  me  ! Ask  of  me  what 
you  please  ! YTiere  is  it  ? ” 

“ Come  with  me,”  she  answered  ; “ I don’t  exactly 
know  the  street  or  the  number,  and  it  is  quite  on 
the  other  side  of  town  ; but  I know  the  house  Avell, 
and  will  take  you  to  it.” 

^She  withdrew'  her  hand,  and  continued  in  a tone 
which  would  have  made  an  observer’s  heart  bleed, 
but  did  not  at  all  affect  the  intoxicated  and  trans- 
ported lover, — 

“ Oh,  how  pleased  you  are  ! ” 

A cloud  passed  over  IMarius’s  forehead,  and  he 
clutched  Eponine’s  arm. 

“ Swear  one  thing.” 

“ Swear  ? ” she  said.  “ \Yiat  do  you  mean  by 
that  ? Indeed,  you  w'ant  me  to  swmar  ? ” 

And  she  burst  into  a laugh. 

“Your  father!  Promise  me,  Eponine, — swear 
to  me  that  you  will  never  tell  your  father  that 
address.” 

She  turned  to  him  with  an  air  of  stupefaction. 
“ Eponine  ! how  do  you  know  that  is  my  name  ? ” 

“ Promise  me  what  I ask  you.” 

VOL.  IV.  6 


82 


THE  KUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


But  she  did  not  seem  to  hear  him. 

“ That  is  nice  ! You  called  me  Eponine  ! ” 

Marius  seized  both  her  arms. 

“ Answer  me  in  Heaven’s  name  ! Pay  attention 
to  what  I am  saying,  — swear  to  me  that  you  will 
not  tell  your  father  the  address  which  you  know.” 

“ ]\Iy  father  ? ” she  remarked,  “ oh,  yes,  my  father. 
He ’s  all  right  in  a secret  cell.  Besides,  what  do  I 
care  for  my  father  ? ” 

“ But  you  have  not  promised  ! ” Marius  exclaimed. 

“ Let  me  go  ! ” she  said,  as  she  burst  into  a laugh  ; 
“ how  you  are  shaking  me  ! Yes,  yes,  I promise  it ; 
I swear  it ! How  does  it  concern  me  ? I will  not 
tell  my  father  the  address.  There,  does  that  suit 
you  ; is  that  it  ? ” 

“ And  no  one  else  ? ” said  Marius. 

“ And  no  one  else.” 

“ Now,”  Marius  continued,  “ lead  me  there.” 

“ At  once  ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Come  on  ! Oh,  how  glad  he  is  ! ” she  said. 

A few  yards  farther  on  she  stopped. 

“You  are  following  me  too  closely,  Monsieur 
Marius ; let  me  go  on  in  front  and  do  you  follow 
me,  as  if  you  were  not  doing  so.  A respectable 
young  man  like  you  must  not  be  seen  with  such  a 
woman  as  I am.” 

No  language  could  render  all  that  was  contained 
in  the  word  “ woman,”  thus  pronounced  by  this 
child^  She  went  a dozen  paces  and  stopped  again. 
Marius  rejoined  her,  and  she  said  to  him  aside  with- 
out turning  to  him,  — 


MARIUS  HAS  AN  APPARITION. 


83 


“ By  the  bye,  you  know  that  you  promised  me 
something  ? ” 

Marius  felt  in  his  pocket ; he  had  nothing  in  the 
world  but  the  five-franc  piece  [destined  for  Father 
Thenardier,  but  he  laid  the  coin  in  Eponine’s  hand. 
She  let  it  slip  through  her  fingers  on  the  ground, 
and  looking  at  him  frowningly  said,  — 

“ I do  not  want  your  money.” 


BOOK  III. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  RUE  PLUMET. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  MYSTERIOUS  HOUSE. 

About  the  middle  of  the  last  century  a president 
of  the  Parliament  of  Paris  who  kept  a mistress  under 
the  rose  -E-lfor  at  that  day  the  nobility  displayed  their 
mistresses  and  the  bourgeois  concealed  theirs_^  had 
“line  petite  niaison  ” built  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Ger- 
main, in  the  deserted  Rue  Blomet,  which  is  now 
called  Rue  Plumet,|and  not  far  from  the  spot  which 
was  formerly  known  as  the  “ Combat  des  Aniniaux.^ 
This  house  consisted  of  a pavilion  only  one  story 
in  height,  there  were  two  sitting-rooms  on  the  ground- 
floor,  two  bedrooms  on  the  first,  a kitchen  below,  a 
boudoir  above,  an  attic  beneath  the  roof,  and  the 
whole  was  surrounded  by  a large  garden  with  rail- 
ings looking  out  on  the  street.  This  was  all  that 
passers-by  could  see.  But  behind  the  pavilion  was 
a narrow  yard,  with  an  outhouse  containing  two 
rooms, (^here  a nurse  and  a child  could  be  concealed 
if  necessaryj^  In  the  back  of  this  outhouse  was  a 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  HOUSE. 


85 


secret  door  leading  into  a long,  paved,  winding  pas- 
sage, open  to  the  sky,  and  bordered  by  two  lofty 
walls.  This  passage,  concealed  with  prodigious  art, 
and,  as  it  were,  lost  between  the  garden  walls,  whose 
every  turn  and  winding  it  followed,  led  to  another 
secret  door,  which  opened  about  a quarter  of  a mile 
olf  almost  in  another  quarter,  at  the  solitary  end  of' 
the  Rue  de  Babyloue.  |The  president  went  in  by 
tliis  door,  so  that  even  those  who  might  have  watched 
him,  and  observed  that  he  mysteriously  went  some- 
where every  day,  could  not  have  suspected  that  going 
to  the  Rue  de  Babyloue  was  going  to  the  Rue 
Blomet,  By  clever  purchases  of  ground,  the  in- 
genious magistrate  had  been  enabled  to  make  this 
hidden  road  upon  his  own  land,  and  consequently 
uncontrolled.  At  a later  date  he  sold  the  land  bor- 
t:lering  the  passage  in  small  lots  for  gardens,  and  the 
owners  of  these  gardens  on  either  side  believed  that 
they  had  a parting-wall  before  them,  and  did  not 
even  suspect  the  existence  of  this  long  strip  of  pave- 
ment winding  between  two  walls  among  their  flower- 
beds and  orchards.  The  birds  alone  saw  this  curiosity, 
and  it  is  probable  that  the  linnets  and  tomtits  of 
the  last  century  gossiped  a good  deal  about  the 
President. 

The  paxdlion,  built  of  stone,  in  the  IMansard  taste, 
and  panelled  and  furnished  in  the  Watteau  style, 
rock-work  outside,  old-fashioned  within,  and  begirt 
by  a triple  hedge  of  flowers,  had  something  discreet, 
coquettish,  and  solemn  about  it,  befitting  the  caprices 
of  love  and  a magistrate.  This  house  and  this  pas- 
sage, which  have  now  disappeared,  still  existed  fifteen 


8G 


THE  EUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


years  ago.  In  1/93  a brazier  bought  the  house  for 
the  purpose  of  demolishing  it,  but  as  he  could  not 
pay,  the  nation  made  him  bankrupt,  and  thus  it  was 
the  house  that  demolished  the  brazier.  Since  then 
the  house  had  remained  uniuhabited,  and  fell  slowly 
into  ruins,  like  every  residence  to  which  the  presence 
of  man  no  longer  communicates  life.  The  old  fur- 
niture was  left  in  it,  and  the  ten  or  tw'elve  persons 
who  pass  along  the  Rue  Plumet  were  informed  that 
it  was  for  sale  or  lease  by  a yellow  and  illegible 
placard  wdiich  had  been  fastened  to  the  garden  gate 
since  1810.  Toward  the  end  of  the  Restoration  the 
same  passers-by  might  have  noticed  that  the  bill  had 
disappeared,  and  even  that  the  first-floor  shutters 
■were  open.  The  house  was  really  occupied,  and 
there  were  short  curtains  at  the  windows,  a sign  that 
there  ^vas  a lady  iu  the  house^  In  October,  1829,* 
a middle-aged  man  presented  himself  and  took  the 
house  as  it  stood,  including  of  course  the  outhouse 
and  the  passage  leading  to  the  Rue  de  Babylone,  and 
he  had  the  two  secret  doors  of  this  passage  put  in 
repair.  The  house  was  still  furnished  much  as  the 
president  had  left  it,  so  the  new  tenant  merely 
ordered  a few  necessary  articles,  had  the  leaving  of 
the  yard  put  to  rights,  new  stairs  put  in,  and  the 
Avindows  mended,  and  eventually  installed  himself 
there  Avith  a young  girl  and  an  old  Avoinau,  Avithout 
any  disturbance,  and  rather  like  a man  slipping  iu 
than  one  entering  his  OAvn  house.  \lThe  neighbors, 
hoAvever,  did  not  chatter,  for  the  simple  reason  that 
he  had  nonell 

The  tenant  was  in  reality  Jean  Valjean,  and  the 


THE  MYSTEBIOUS  HOUSE. 


87 


girl  was  Cosette.  The  domestic  was  a female  of  the 
name  of  Toussaint,  whom  Jean  Valjean  had  saved 
from  the  hospital  and  wretchedness,  and  who  was 
old,  rustic,  and  stammered,  — three  qualities  which 
determined  Jean  Valjean  on  taking  her  with  him. 
He  hired  the  house  in  the  name  of  M.  Fauchelevent, 
annuitant,  jjn  all  we  have  recently  recorded,  the 
reader  wall  have  doubtless  recognized  Valjean  even 
sooner  than  Th^nardier  did.__.  1 Why  had  he  left  the 
convent  of  the  Little  Picpus,  and  what  had  occurred 
there  ? Nothing  had  occurred.  It  wdll  be  borne  in 
mind  that  Jean  Valjean  was  happy  in  the  convent, 
so  happy  that  his  conscience  at  last  became  disturbed 
by  it.  He  saw  Cosette  daily,  he  felt  paternity  spring- 
ing up  and  being  developed  in  him  more  and  more ; 
he  set  his  whole  soul  on  the  girl ; he  said  to  himself 
that  she  was  his,  that  no  power  on  earth  could  rob 
him  of  her,  that  it  would  be  so  indefinitely,  that  she 
would  certainly  become  a nun,  as  she  was  daily  gently 
urged  to  it,lthat  henceforth  the  convent  was  the  world 
for  him  as  for  her,  that  he  would  grow  old  in  it  and 
she  grow  up,  that  she  would  grow  old  and  he  die 
there ; and  that,  finally,  no  separation  was  possible^ 
While  reflecting  on  this,  he  began  falling  into  per- 
plexities : he  asked  himself  if  all  this  happiness  were 
really  his,  if  it  were  not  composed  of  the  happiness 
of  this  child,  which  he  confiscated  and  deprived  her 
of,  and  whether  this  were  not  a robbery  ? He  said 
to  himself  that  this  child  had  the  right  to  know  life 
before  renouncing  it,  that  depriving  her  beforehand, 
and  wdthout  consulting  her,  of  all  joys  under  the 
pretext  of  sa\dng  her  from  all  trials,  land  profiting 


88 


THE  EUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


by  lier  ignorance  and  isolation  to  make  an  artificial 
vocation  spring  up  in  her^was  denaturalizing  a 
human  creature  and  being  false  to  God.  And  who 
knew  whether  Cosette,  some  day  meditating  on 
this,  and  feeling  herself  a reluctant  nun,  might  not 
grow  to  hate  him  ? It  was  a last  thought,  almost 
selfish  and  less  heroic  than  the  others,  but  it  was 
insupportable  to  him.  He  resolved  to  leave  the 
convent. 

CJde  resolved,  and  recognized  with  a breaking  heart 
that  he  must  do  so.  As  for  objections,  there  were 
none,  for  six  years  of  residence  between  these  walls, 
and  of  disappearance,  had  necessarily  destroyed  or 
dispersed  the  element  of  fear.  He  could  return  to 
human  society  at  his  ease,  for  he  had  grown  old  and 
all  had  changed.  Who  would  recognize  him  now  ? 
And  then,  looking  at  the  worst,  there  was  only  dan- 
ger for  himself,  and  he  had  not  the  right  to  condemn 
Cosette  to  a cloister,  for  the  reason  that  he  had  been 
condemned  to  the  galleys;  besides,  what  is  danger 
in  the  presence  of  duty  ? Lastly,  nothing  prevented 
him  from  being  prudent  and  taking  precautions  ; and 
as  for  Cosette’s  education,  it  was  almost  completed 
and  terminated^  Once  the  resolution  was  formed,  he 
awaited  the  opportunity,  which  soon  offered : old 
Fauchel event  died.  Jean  Valjean  requested  an  au- 
dience of  the  reverend  prioress,  and  told  her  that  as 
he  had  inherited  a small  property  by  his  brother’s 
death,  which  would  enable  him  to  live  without  work- 
ing, he  was  going  to  leave  the  convent,  and  take  his 
daughter  with  him ; but  as  it  was  not  fair  that  Co- 
sette, who  was  not  going  to  profess,  should  have 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  HOUSE. 


89 


been  educated  gratuitously,  be  implored  the  reverend 
prioress  to  allow  him  to  offer  the  community,  for 
the  five  years  which  Cosette  had  passed  among  them, 
the  sum  of  five  thousand  fi'aucs.  It  was  thus  that 
Jean  Yaljean  quitted  the  Convent  of  the  Perpetual 
Adoration. 

On  leaving:  it  he  carried  with  his  own  hands,  and 
would  not  intrust  to  any  porter,  the  small  valise,  of 
which  he  always  had  the  key  about  him.  This  valise 
perplexed  Cosette,  owing  to  the  aromatic  smell  which 
issued  from  it.  Let  us  say  at  once  that  this  trunk 
never  quitted  him  again,  he  always  had  it  in  his  bed- 
room, and  it  was  the  first  and  at  times  the  only 
thing  which  he  carried  away  in  his  removals.  Co- 
sette laughed,  called  this  valise  “the  inseijarable,” 
and  said,  “I  am  jealous  of  it.”  Jean  Valjean,  how- 
ever, felt  a profound  anxiety  when  he  returned  to 
tlie  outer  air.  He  discovered  the  house  in  the  Rue 
Plumet,  and  hid  himself  in  it,  henceforth  remaining 
in  possession  of  the  name  of  Ultimo  Fauchelevent. 
At  the  same  time  he  hired  two  other  lodgings  in 
Paris,  so  that  he  might  attract  less  attention  than  if 
he  had  always  remained  in  the  same  quarter ; that 
he  might,  if  necessary,  absent  himself  for  a while  if 
anything  alarmed  him ; and,  lastly,  that  he  might 
not  be  taken  unaware,  as  on  the  night . when  he  so 
miraculously  escaped  from  Javert.  These  two  lodg- 
ings were  of  a very  mean  appearance,  and  in  two 
quarters  very  distant  from  each  other,  one  being  in 
the  Rue  de  I'Ouest,  the  other  in  the  Rue  de  THomme- 
arm4.  He  spent  a few  weeks  now  and  then  at  one 
or  the  other  of  these  lodgings,  taking  Cosette  with 


90 


THE  KUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


him  and  leaving  Toussaint  behind,  uHe  was  waited 
on  by  the  porters,  and  represented  himself  as  a per- 
son living  in  the  country,  who  had  a lodging  in  town. 
This  lofty  virtue  had  three  domiciles  in  Paris  in  order 
to  escape  the  police. 


CHAPTER  II. 


JEAX  YALJEAN  A NATIONAL  GUARD. 

Properly  speaking,  however,  ^ean  Valjean’^ 
house  was  at  the  Rue  Plumet,  and  he  had  arranged 
his  existence  there  in  the  following  fashion  ; Cosette 
and  the  servant  occupied  the  pavilion,  she  had  the 
best  bedroom,  with  the  painted  press,  (|he  boudoir 
with  the  gilt  beading,  the  president’s  drawing-room 
with  its  hangings  and  vast  easy  chairs,  and  the  garden. 
Jean  Yaljean  placed  in  Cosette’s  room  a bed  with 
a canopy  of  old  damask  in  three  colors,  and  an  old 
and  handsome  Persian  carpet,  purchased  at  Mother 
Gaucher’s  in  the  Rue  Figuier  St.  Paul ; while,  to 
correct  the  sternness  of  these  old  splendors,  he  added 
all  the  light  gay  furniture  of  girls,  an  4tagfere,  book- 
shelves with  gilt  books,  a desk  and  blotting-case, 
a work-table  inlaid  with  • mother-of-pearl,  a silver 
dressing-case,  and  toilet  articles  of  Japanese  porce- 
lain. Long  damask  curtains  of  three  colors,  like 
those  on  the  bed,  festooned  the  first-floor  windows, 
while  on  the  ground-floor  they  were  of  tapestr^  All 
through  tlie  Yunter  Cosette’s  small  house  was  Y^armed 
from  top  to  bottom,  while  Jean  Yaljean  himself  lived 
in  the  sort  of  porter’s  lodge  at  the  end  of  the  back 
yard,  which  was  fui’nished  with  a mattress  and  com- 


92 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


Ill  on  bedstead,  a deal  table,  two  straw-bottomed 
chairs,  an  earthenware  water-jug,  a few  books  on  a 
plank,  and  his  dear  valise  in  a corner,  but  he  never 
had  any  fire.  He  dined  with  Cosette,  and  black 
bread  was  put  on  the  table  for  him  ; and  he  had  said 
to  Toussaint,  when  she  came,  “ This  young  lady  is 
mistress  of  the  house.”  “ And  you,  sir  ? ” Tous- 
saint replied,  quite  stupefied.  “ Oh ! I am  much 
better  than  the  master,  — I am  the  father.” 

I^Cosette  had  been  taught  house-keeping  in  the  con- 
vent, and  checked  the  expenses,  which  were  very 
small.  Daily  Jean  Valjean  took  Cosette  for  a walk, 
leading  to  the  most  sequestered  path  of  the  Luxem- 
bourg, and  every  Sunday  they  attended  IMass  at  the 
Church  of  St.  Jacques  du  Haut-pas,  because  it  was 
a long  distance  ofi".  As  it  is  a very  poor  district, 
he  gave  away  a considerable  amount  of  alms,  and 
the  wretched  flocked  around  him  in  the  church, 
which  produced  the  letter  from  Th^nardier,  “ To  the 
Benevolent  Gentleman  of  the  Church  of  St.  Jacques 
du  Haut-pas.”  He  was  fond  of  taking  Cosette  to 
visit  the  indigent  and  the  sick,  but  no  stranger  ever 
entered  the  house  in  the  Rue  Plumet.  Toussaint 
bought  the  provision,  and  Jean  Valjean  himself 
fetched  the  water  from  a fountain  close  by,  on 
the  boulevard.  The  wood  and  wine  were  kept  in  a 
semi-subterranean  building  covered  with  rock-work, 
near  the  door  in  the  Rue  de  Babylone,  wdiich  had 
formerly  served  the  president  as  a grotto,  for  in 
the  age  of  Follies  and  Petites  Maisons,  love  was 
not  possible  without  a grotto.  In  the  door  opening 
on  the  Rue  de  Babylone  there  was  a letter-box, 


JEAN  VALJEAN  A NATIONAL  GUARD. 


93 


but,  as  the  inhabitants  of  the  house  in  the  Rue 
Pluniet  received  no  letters,  this  box,  once  on  a time 
the  go-between  in  amourettes,  and  the  confidant  of 
a love-sick  laAvyer,  was  now  only  of  service  to  re- 
ceive the  tax-papers  and  the  guard-noticeSjJ]  For 
M,  Fauchelevent,  annuitant,  belonged  to  the  National 
Guard,  [and  had  been  unable  to  escape  the  close 
meshes  of  the  census  of  1831.  The  municipal  in- 
quiries made  at  that  period  extended  even  to  the 
convent  of  the  Little  Picpus,  whence  Jean  Valjean 
emerged  venerable  in  the  eyes  of  the  mayoralty,  and 
consequently  worthy  of  mounting  guard.^  Three  or 
four  times  a year  Jean  Valjean  donned  iTis  uniform 
and  went  on  duty,  and  did  so  readily  enough,  for  it 
was  a disguise  Avhich  enabled  him  to  mix  with  every- 
body, while  himself  remaining  solitary.  Jean  Val- 
jean had  attained  his  ^ixtieth  year,  or  the  age  of 
legal  exemption ; but  he  did  not  look  more  than 
fifty ; besides,  he  had  no  wish  to  escape  his  sergeant- 
major  and  cheat  Count  Lobau.  He  had  no  civil 
status,  hid  his  name,  his  identity,  his  age,  every- 
thing, and,  as  we  just  said,  he  was  a willing  National 
Guard,  — all  his  ambition  was  to  resemble  the  first- 
comer  who  pays  taxes.  The  ideal  of  this  man  was 
internally  an  angel,  externally  a bourgeois. 

■jjLet  us  mention  one  fact,  by  the  way.  When  Jean 
Valjean  went  out  with  Cosette  he  dressed  himself 
in  the  way  we  have  seen,  and  looked  like  a retired 
officer  ; but  when  he  went  out  alone,  and  he  did  so 
usually  at  night,  he  was  attired  in  a workman’s  jacket 
and  tronsers,  and  a cap  whose  peak  was  pulled  deej) 
over  his  eyes.  Was  this  precaution  or  humility? 


94 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


Both  at  once.  Cosette  was  accustomed  to  the  enig- 
matical side  of  her  destiny,  and  hardly  noticed  her 
father’s  singularities ; as  for  Toussaint,  she  revered 
Jean  Valjcau,  and  considered  everytliing  he  did  right. 
One  day  her  butcher,  who  got  a glimpse  of  her  mas- 
ter, said,  “ He ’s  a queer  looking  stick,”  and  she  re- 
plied, “He’s  a — a — a — saint. All  three  never 
left  the  house  except  by  the  gate  in  the  Rue  de  Baby- 
lone  ; and  unless  they  were  noticed  through  the  gar- 
den gate  it  would  be  difficult  to  guess  that  they 
lived  in  the  Rue  Plumet.  This  gate  was  always 
locked,  and  Jean  Valjean  left  the  garden  untended 
that  it  might  not  be  noticed.  In  this,  perhaps,  he 
deceived  himself. 


CHAPTER  III. 


FOLIIS  AC  FROXDIBUS. 

This  garden,  left  to  itself  for  more  than  half  a 
century,  had  become  extraordinaiy  and  charming : pas- 
sers-by forty  years  ago  stopped  in  the  street  to  gaze 
at  it,  without  suspecting  the  secrets  which  it  hid 
behind  its  fresh  green  screen.  More  than  one 
dreamer  at  that  day  allowed  his  eyes  and  thoughts 
indiscreetly  to  penetrate  the  bars  of  the  old  locked, 
twisted,  shaky  gate,  which  hung  from  two  mould- 
covered  pillars  and  was  surmounted  by  a pediment 
covered  with  undecipherable  arabesques.  There  was 
a stone  bank  in  a corner,  there  were  one  or  two 
mouldering  statues,  and  some  trellis-work,  unnailed 
by  time,  was  rotting  against  the  walls ; there  was 
no  turf  or  walk  left,  but  there  was  dog’s-grass 
everywhere.  The  artificiality  of  gardening  had  de- 
parted, and  nature  had  I’eturned  ; weeds  were 
abundant,  and  the  festival  of  the  gilly-fiowers  was 
splendid  there.  Nothing  in  this  garden  impeded 
the  sacred  efforts  of  things  toward  life,  and  growth 
was  at  home  there  and  held  high  holiday.  The 
trees  had  bent  down  to  the  briars,  the  briars  had 
mounted  toward  the  trees  ; the  plants  had  clam- 
bered up,  the  branches  had  bent  down.  What 


96 


THE  HUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


crawls  on  the  ground  had  gone  to  meet  Avhat 
expands  in  the  air,  and  Avhat  floats  in  the  wind 
stooped  doAvn  to  Avhat  drags  along  the  moss ; 
brambles,  branches,  leaves,  fibres,  tufts,  tAvigs,  ten- 
drils, and  thorns  Avere  mixed  together,  Avedded  and 
confounded ; A^egetation  had  celebrated  and  accom- 
plished here,  in  a close  and  profound  embrace,  and 
beneath  the  satisfied  eye  of  the  Creator,  the  holy 
mystery  of  its  fraternity,  Avhich  is  a symbol  of  human 
paternity.  This  garden  AA^as  no  longer  a garden,  but 
a colossal  thicket ; that  is  to  say,  something  Avhich  is 
as  impenetrable  as  a forest,  as  populous  as  a city,  as 
rustling  as  a nest,  as  dark  as  a cathedral,  as  fragrant 
as  a bouquet,  as  solitary  as  a tomb,  and  as  liA^ely  as 
a croAvd. 

In  spring  this  enormous  thicket,  at  liberty  Avithin 
its  four  Avails,  played  its  part  in  the  dull  task  of  uni- 
A’ersal  germination,  and  quiA^ered  in  the  rising  sun 
almost  like  an  animal  that  inhales  the  effluvia  of 
cosmic  love  and  feels  the  sap  of  April  ascending  and 
boiling  in  its  veins,  and  shaking  iu  the  Aviud  its  pro- 
digious green  foliage,  scattered  over  the  damp  ground, 
over  the  Aveather-beaten  statues,  over  the  crumbling 
steps  of  the  pavilion,  and  even  over  the  paA^ement  of 
the  deserted  street,  constellations  of  flowers,  pearls 
of  deAV,  fecundity,  beauty,  life,  joy,  and  perfumes, 
xkt  midday  thousands  of  white  butterflies  took  ref- 
uge in  it,  and  it  Avas  a divine  sight  to  Avatch  this 
living  snoAV  of  summer  falling  in  flakes  through  the 
shadoAvs.  In  the  pleasant  gloom  of  the  foliage  a 
multitude  of  soft  voices  gently  addressed  the  soul, 
and  what  the  tAvitteriug  forgot  to  say,  the  buzzing 


FOLIIS  AC  FROXDIBUS. 


97 


completed.  At  night  a dreamy  vapor  rose  from  the 
garden  and  enveloped  it ; a cere-cloth  of  mist,  a 
celestial  and  calm  melancholy,  covered  it ; the  in- 
toxicating smell  of  the  honeysuckle  and  the  bind- 
weed ascended  from  all  sides  like  an  exquisite  and 
subtle  poison ; the  last  appeals  of  the  woodpeckers 
and  the  goldfinches  could  be  heard,  ere  they  fell 
asleep  under  the  branches,  and  the  sacred  intimacy 
between  the  bird  and  the  trees  was  felt,  for  by  day, 
wings  gladden  the  leaves,  and  at  night  the  leaves 
protect  the  wings.  In  winter,  the  thicket  was  black, 
dank,  bristling,  and  shivering,  and  allowed  a glimpse 
at  the  house  to  be  taken.  Instead  of  flowers  among 
the  stalks  and  dew  upon  the  flowers,  the  long  silvery 
trail  of  the  snails  could  be  seen  on  the  cold  thick 
bed  of  yellow  leaves ; but  in  any  case,  under  any 
aspect,  and  at  all  seasons,  spring,  summer,  autumu, 
and  winter,  this  little  enclosure  exhaled  melancholy 
contemplation,  solitude,  liberty,  the  absence  of  man 
and  the  presence  of  God,  and  the  old  rusty  railings 
had  an  air  of  saying,  “ This  garden  is  mine.” 

Although  the  pavement  of  Paris  was  all  around^ 
the  classical  and  splendid  mansions  of  the  Rue  de 
Varennes  two  yards  off,  the  dome  of  the  Invalides 
close  by,  and  the  Chamber  of  Deputies  at  no  great 
distance,  although  the  carriages  from  the  Rues  de 
Bourgogne  and  St.  Dominique  rolled  along  luxuri- 
ously in  the  \’iciuity,  and  yellow,  brown,  white,  and 
red  omnibuses  crossed  the  adjoining  square,  — the 
Rue  Plumet  was  a desert ; and  the  death  of  the  old 
proprietors,  a revolution  which  had  passed,  the  over- 
throw of  old  fortunes,  absence,  forgetfulness,  and 

VOL.  IV.  7 


98 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


forty  years  of  desertion  and  widowhood,  had  sufficed 
to  bring  back  to  this  privileged  spot  ferns,  torch- 
weeds,  hemlock,  ragwort,  tall  grass,  dock-leaves, 
lizards,  beetles,  and  restless  and  rapid  insects.  A 
savage  and  stern  grandeur  had  re-appeared  between 
these  four  walls,  and  nature,  who  disconcerts  all  the 
paltry  arrangements  of  man,  and  is  as  perfect  in  the 
ant  as  in  the  man,  had  displayed  herself  in  a poor 
little  Parisian  garden  with  as  much  roughness  and 
majesty  as  in  a virgin  forest  of  the  New  World. 
Nothing,  in  fact,  is  small,  and  any  one  who  is  affected 
by  the  profound  penetrations  of  nature  is  aware 
of  this  fact.  Although  no  absolute  satisfaction  is 
granted  to  philosophy,  and  though  it  can  no  more 
circumscribe  the  cause  than  limit  the  effect,  the  con- 
templator  falls  into  unfathomable  ecstasy  when  he 
watches  all  those  decompositions  of  force  which 
result  in  unity.  Everything  labors  for  everything ; 
algebra  is  applied  to  the  clouds,  the  irradiation  of  the 
planet  benefits  the  rose,  and  no  thinker  would  dare  to 
say  that  the  perfume  of  the  hawthorn  is  useless  to  the 
constellations.  Who  can  calculate  the  passage  of  a 
molecule  ? Who  among  us  knows  whether  the  crea- 
tions of  worlds  are  not  determined  by  the  fall  of  grains 
of  sand  ? Who  is  acquainted  with  the  reciprocal  ebb 
and  flow  of  the  infinitely  great  and  the  infinitely 
little  ? A maggot  is  of  importance,  the  little  is  great 
and  the  great  little,  all  is  in  a state  of  equilibrium 
in  nature.  This  is  a terrific  vision  for  the  mind. 
There  are  prodigious  relations  between  beings  and 
things ; and  in  this  inexhaustible  total,  from  the  flea 
to  the  sun,  nothing  despises  the  other,  for  all  have 


rOLIIS  AC  FRONDIBUS. 


99 


need  of  each  other.  Light  does  not  bear  into  the 
skj  terrestrial  perfumes  unthout  knowing  what  to  do 
with  them,  and  night  distributes  tlie  planetary  es- 
sence to  the  sleepy  flowers.  Every  bird  that  flies 
has  round  its  foot  the  thread  of  infinity ; germination 
is  equally  displayed  in  the  outburst  of  a meteor  and 
the  peck  of  the  swallow  breaking  the  egg,  and 
it  places  the  birth  of  a worm  and  the  advent  of 
Socrates  in  the  same  parallel.  Where  the  telescope 
ends  the  microscope  begins,  and  wliich  of  the  two 
has  the  grandest  sight?  you  can  choose.  A patch 
of  green  mould  is  a pleiad  of  flowers,  and  a nebula 
is  an  ant-hill  of  stars.  There  is  the  same  and  even 
a more  extraordinary  promiscuity  of  the  things  of 
the  intellect  and  the  facts  of  the  substance  ; elements 
and  principles  are  mingled,  combined,  wedded  to- 
gether, and  multiply  each  other  till  they  lead  both 
the  moral  and  the  material  world  into  the  same  light. 
In  the  vast  eosmic  exchanges  universal  life  comes 
and  goes  in  unknown  quantities,  revolving  everything 
in  the  iimsible  mystery  of  efiiu\’ia,  employing  every- 
thing, losing  not  a single  dream  of  a sleep,  sowing  an 
animalcule  here,  crumbling  away  a star  there,  oscil- 
lating and  winding,  making  of  light  a force,  and  of 
thought  an  element,  disseminated  and  invisible,  and 
dissolving  everything  save  that  geometrical  point, 
the  Ego ; bringing  back  everything  to  the  atom 
soul,  expanding  everything  in  God ; entangling  all 
acti\'ities  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest  in  the  ob- 
scurity of  a vertiginous  mechanism ; attaching  the 
flight  of  an  insect  to  the  movement  of  the  earth, 
and  subordinating,  perhaps,  if  only  through  the 


100 


THE  RUE  RLUMET  IDYLL. 


identity  of  the  law,  the  evolution  of  the  comet  in 
the  firmament  to  the  rotary  movement  of  the  Infuso- 
ria in  the  drop  of  water,  — a machine  made  of  soul ; 
an  enormous  gearing  of  which  the  prime  mover  is 
the  gnat,  and  the  last  wheel  is  the  Zodiac. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


CHANGE  OF  GRATING. 


II 

\ 


It  seemed  as  if  this  garden,  created  in  former  times 
to  conceal  libertine  mysteries,  had  been  transformed 
and  become  fitting  to  shelter  chaste  mysteries.  There 
were  no  longer  any  cradles,  bowling-greens,  covered 
walks,  or  grottos  ; but  there  was  a magnificent  tangled 
obscurity  which  fell  all  around,  and  Paphos  was 
changed  into  Eden.  A penitent  feeling  had  refreshed 
this  retreat,  and  the  coquettish  garden,  once  on  a 
time  so  compromised,  had  returned  to  virginity  and 
modesty.  A president  assisted  by  a gardener,  a good 
fellow  who  believed  himself  the  successor  of  La- 
moignon,  and  another  good  fellow  who  fancied  himself 
the  successor  of  Lenotre,  had  turned  it  about,  clipped 
it,  and  prepared  it  for  purposes  of  gallantry,  but  na- 
ture had  seized  it  again,  filled  it  with  shadow,  and 
prepared  it  for  love.  There  was,  too,  in  this  solitude  a 
heart  which  was  quite  ready,  and  love  had  only  to 
show  itself ; for  there  were  here  a temple  composed 
of  verdure,  grass,  moss,  the  sighs  of  birds,  gentle 
shadows,  waving  branches,  and  a sold  formed  of  gen- 
tleness, faith,  candor,  hope,  aspirations,  and  illusion  J 
Cosette  left  the  convent  while  still  almost  a child. 
She  was  but  little  more  than  fourteen,  |and  at  the 
“unpromising  age,”  as  we  have  said.  With  the 


102 


THE  EUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


exception  of  her  eyes,  she  seemed  rather  ugly  than 
pretty ; still  she  had  no  ungraceful  feature,  but  she 
was  awkward,  thin,  timid  and  bold  at  the  same  time, 
in  short,  a grown-up  little  giij^  Her  education  was 
finished,  that  is  to  say,  she  had  been  taught  religion, 
and  more  especially  devotion,  also  “ history,”  that  is 
to  say,  the  thing  so  called  in  a convent;  geograjdiy, 
grammar,  the  participles,  the  kings  of  France,  and  a 
little  music,  drawing,  etc. ; but  in  other  respects  she 
was  ignorant  of  everything,  which  is  at  once  a charm 
and  a peril.  The  mind  of  a young  girl  ought  not  to 
be  left  in  darkness,  for  at  a later  date,  mirages  too 
sudden  and  vivid  are  produced  in  it  as  in  a camera 
obscura.  She  should  be  gently  and  discreetly  en- 
lightened, rather  by  the  reflection  of  realities  than 
by  their  direct  and  harsh  light ; for  this  is  a useful 
and  gracefully  obscure  semi-light  which  dissipates 
childish  fears  and  prevents  falls.  There  is  only  the 
maternal  instinct, -^hat  admirable  intuition  into  which 
the  recollections  of  the  virgin  and  the  experience  of 
the  wife  enter, that  knows  how  or  of  what  this  semi- 
light  should  be  composed. i^othiiig  can  take  the 
place  of  this  instiiu^  and  in  forming  a girl’s  mind,  all 
the  nuns  in  the  world  are  not  equal  to  one  mother. 
Cosette  had  had  no  mother,  she  had  only  had  a great 
many  mothers:  as  for  Jean  Yaljean,  he  had  within 
him  every  possible  tenderness  and  every  possible 
anxiety ; but  he  was  only  an  old  man  who  knew 
nothing  at  all.  Wow,  in  this  work  of  education,  in 
this  serious  matter  of  preparing  a woman  for  life, 
what  knowledge  is  needed  to  contend  against  the 
other  great  ignorance  which  is  called  innocence  ! 


CHANGE  OF  GRATING 


103 


Xotliing  prepares  a girl  for  passions  like  tlie  convent, 
for  it  directs  her  thoughts  to  the  unknovu.  The 
lieart  is  driven  back  on  itself,  and  hence  come  visions, 
suppositions,  conjectures,  romances  sketched,  adven- 
tures longed  for,  fantastic  constructions,  and  edifices 
built  entirely  on  the  inner  darkness  of  the  mind,  — 
gloomy  and  secret  dwellings  in  which  the  passions 
alone  find  a lodging  so  soon  as  passing  through  the 
convent  gate  allows  it.  Tlie  convent  is  a compres- 
sion which  must  last  the  whole  life,  if  it  is  to  triumph 
over  the  human  heart.  ^ On  lea\'ing  the  convent, 
Cosette  could  not  have  found  anything  sweeter  or 
more  dangerous  than  the  house  in  the  Rue  Plumet. 
It  was  the  commencement  of  solitude  with  the  com- 
mencement of  liberty,  a closed  garden,  but  a sharp, 
kind,  rich,  voluptuous,  and  odorous  nature  ; there 
were  the  same  dreams  as  in  the  convent,  but  glimpses 
could  be  caught  of  young  men,  — it  was  a grating, 
but  it  looked  on  the  street.  Still,  we  repeat,  when 
Cosette  first  came  here,  she  was  but  a cluld.  Jean 
Valjean  gave  over  to  her  this  uncultivated  garden, 
and  said  to  her,  “ Do  what  you  like  with  it.”  This 
amused  Cosette,  she  moved  all  the  tufts  and  all  the 
stones  in  search  of  “ beasts ; ” she  played  about  while 
waiting  tdl  the  time  came  to  think,  and  she  loved 
this  garden  for  the  sake  of  the  insects  which  she 
found  in  the  grass  under  her  feet,  while  waiting  till 
she  should  love  it  for  the  sake  of  the  stars  she  could 
see  through  the  branches  above  her  head. 

^nd  then,  too,  she  loved  her  father,  that  is  to  say, 
Jean  Valjean,  with  all  her  soul,  with  a simple  filial 
passion,  which  rendered  the  worthy  man  a desired 


104 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


and  deliglitful  companion  to  her.  Our  readers  will 
remember  that  IM.  Madeleine  was  fond  of  readiuo:, 
and  Jean  Valjean  continued  in  the  same  track  ; he 
had  learned  to  speak  well,  and  he  possessed  the 
secret  wealth  and  the  eloquence  of  a humble,  true, 
and  self-cultivated  intellect.  He  had  retained  just 
sufficient  roughness  to  season  his  kindness,  and  he 
had  a rough  mind  and  a soft  heart.  During  their 
Ute-ci-Utes  in  the  Luxembourg  garden  he  gave  her 
long  explanations  about  all  sorts  of  things,  deriving 
his  information  from  what  he  had  read,  and  also  from 
what  he  had  suffered.  While  Cosette  was  listening 
to  him,  her  eyes  vaguely  wandered  around.  This 
simple  man  Avas  sufficient  for  Cosette’s  thoughts,  in 
the  same  way  as  the  wild  garden  was  for  her  eyes. 
When  she  had  chased  the  butterflies  for  a Avhile  she 
would  run  up  to  him  panting,  and  say,  “ Oh ! how 
tired  I am ! ” and  he  would  kiss  her  forehead.  Cosette 
adored  this  good  man,  and  she  was  ever  at  his  heels, 
for  wherever  Jean  Valjean  Avas,  happiness  Avas.  As 
he  did  not  live  either  in  the  pavilion  or  the  garden, 
Pshe  was  more  attached  to  the  paved  back-yard  than 
I to  the  flower-laden  garden,  and  preferred  the  little 
outhouse  Avith  the  straAV  chairs  to  the  large  dravAung- 
room  hung  Avith  tapestry,  along  which  silk-covered 
chairs  Avere  arranged.  Jean  Valjean  at  times  said  to 
her  Avith  a smile  of  a man  who  is  delighted  to  be 
annoyed  : “ Come,  go  to  your  own  rooms  ! leave  me 
at  peace  for  a little  while.” 

She  scolded  him  in  that  charming  tender  way 
Avhich  is  so  graceful  when  addressed  by  a daughter 
to  a parent. 


CHANGE  OF  GEATING. 


105 


“ Father,  I feel  very  cold  in  your  room  ; why  don’t 
you  have  a carpet  and  a stove  ? ” 

“ My  dear  child,  there  are  so  many  persons  more 
deserving  than  myself  who  have  not  even  a roof  to 
cover  them.” 

“ Then,  why  is  there  fire  in  my  room  and  every- 
thing that  I want  ? ” 

“ Because  you  are  a woman  and  a child.” 

“ Nonsense  ! then  men  must  be  cold  and  hungry  ? ” 

“ Some  men.” 

“Very  good!  I’ll  come  here  so  often  that  you 
will  be  obliged  to  have  a fire.” 

Or  else  it  was,  — 

“ Father,  why  do  you  eat  such  wretched  bread 
as  that  ? ” 

“ Because  I do,  my  daughter.” 

“ Well,  if  you  eat  it  I shall  eat  it  too.” 

And  so  to  prevent  Cosette  from  eating  black 
Jbread  Jean  Valjean  ate  whitejl  Cosette  remembered 
her  childhood  but  confusedly,  and  she  prayed  night 
and  morning  for  the  mother  whom  she  had  never 
known.  The  Thdnardiers  were  like  two  hideous 
beings  seen  in  a dream,  and  she  merely  remembered 
that  she  had  gone  “ one  day  at  night  ” to  fetch  water 
in  a wood,  — she  thought  that  it  was  a long  distance 
from  Paris.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  had  com- 
menced life  in  an  abyss,  and  that  Jean  Valjean  had 
drawn  her  out  of  it,  and  her  childhood  produced  on 
her  the  effect  of  a time  when  she  had  had  nought 
.but  centipedes,  spiders,  and  snakes  around  her.  When 
she  thought  at  night  before  she  fell  asleep,  as  she  had 
no  very  clear  idea  of  being  Jean  Valjean’s  daughter, 


106 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


she  imagined  that  her  mother’s  soul  had  passed  into 
this  good  man,  and  had  come  to  dwell  near  her. 
When  he  was  sitting  down  she  rested  her  cheek  on 
his  white  hair,  and  silently  dropped  a tear,  while 
saying  to  herself,  “ Perhaps  this  man  is  my  mother  ! ” 
£Cosette,  strange  though  it  is  to  say,  in  her  profound 
ignorance  as  a girl  educated  in  a convent,  and  as, 
too,  maternity  is  absolutely  unintelligible  to  virginity, 
eventually  imagined  that  she  had  had  as  little  of  a 
mother  as  was  possible.  This  mother’s  name  she 
did  not  know,  and  whenever  it  happened  that  she 
spoke  to  Jean  Valjean  on  the  subject  he  held  his 
tongue.  If  she  repeated  her  question  he  answered 
by  a smile,  and  once,  when  she  pressed  him,  the 
smile  terminated  in  a tear.  This  silence  on  his  part 
cast  a night  over  Fantine.  Was  it  through  prudence  ? 
Was  it  through  respect  ? Or  was  it  through  a fear 
of  intrusting  this  name  to  the  chances  of  another 
memory  besides  his  ownj^ 

So  long  as  Cosette  was  young  Jean  Valjean  readily 
talked  to  her  about  her  mother ; but  when  she  grew 
up  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  do  so,  — he  felt  as 
if  he  dared  not  do  it.  Was  it  on  account  of  Cosette 
or  of  Fantine  ? He  felt  a species  of  religious  horror 
at  making  this  shadow  enter  Cosette’s  thoughts,  and 
rendering  a dead  woman  a third  person  in  their 
society.  The  more  sacred  this  shade  was  to  him, 
the  more  formidable  was  it.  He  thought  of  Fantine, 
and  felt  himself  overwhelmed  by  the  silence.  CHo 
saw  vaguely  in  the  darkness  something  that  resembled 
a finger  laid  on  a lip.  Had  all  the  modesty  which 
was  in  Fantine,  and  which  during  her  life  quitted 


CHANGE  OF  GRATING. 


107 


her  with  Aniolence,  returned  after  her  death,  to  watch 
indignantly  over  the  dead  woman’s  peace,  and  sternly 
guard  her  in  the  tomb  ? Was  Jean  Yaljean  himself 
unconsciously  oppressed  by  it  ? We  who  believe  in 
death  are  not  prepared  to  reject  tliis  mysterious  ex- 
planation, and  hence  arose  the  impossibility  of  pro- 
nouncing, even  to  Cosette,  the  name  of  Fantine.^ 
One  day  Cosette  said  to  him,  — 

“ Fathei’,  I saw  my  mother  last  night  in  a dream. 
She  had  two  large  wings,  and  in  life  she  must  have 
been  a sainted  woman.” 

“ Through  martyrdom,”  Jean  Yaljean  replied.  Alto- 
gether, though,  he  was  happy ; when  Cosette  went 
out  with  him  she  leaned  on  his  arm,  proudly  and 
happily,  in  the  fulness  of  her  heart,  Jean  Yaljean 
felt  his  thoughts  melt  into  delight  at  all  these  marks 
of  a tenderness  so  exclusive  and  so  satisfied  with 
himself  alone.  The  poor  WTetch,  inundated  wfith  an 
angelic  joy,  trembled  ; he  assured  himself  with  trans- 
port that  this  would  last  his  w’hole  life ; he  said 
to  himself  that  he  had  not  really  suffered  enough  to 
deserve  such  radiant  happiness,  and  he  thanked  God 
in  the  depths  of  his  soul  for  having  allowed  him  — 
the  wretched  — to  be  thus  loved  by  this  innocent 
being. 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE  ROSE  PERCEIVES  THAT  SHE  IS  AN 
IMPLEMENT  OF  WAR. 

One  clay  Cosette  happened  to  look  at  herself  in 
the  glass,  and  said,  “ Good  gracious  ! ” She  fancied 
that  slie  was  almost  pretty,  and  this  threw  her  into 
a singular  trouble.  Up  to  this  moment  she  had  not 
thought  of  her  face,  and  though  she  saw  lierself  in 
the  mirror  she  did  not  look  at  herself.  And,  then, 
she  had  often  been  told  that  she  was  ugly  ; Jean 
Valjean  alone  would  say  gently,  “ Oh,  no,  oh,  no  ! ’’ 
However  this  might  be,  Cosette  had  always  believed 
herself  ugly,  and  had  grown  up  in  this  idea  ivith  the 
facile  resignation  of  childhood.  And  now  all  at  once 
her  looking-glass  said  to  her,  as  Jean  Valjean  had 
done,  “ Oh,  no  ! ” She  did  not  sleep  that  night. 
“ Suppose  I were  pretty,”  she  thought,  “ how  droll 
it  would  be  if  I were  pretty  ! ” and  she  remembered 
those  of  her  companions  whose  beauty  produced  an 
effect  in  the  convent,  and  said  to  herself,  “ What ! 
I might  be  like  Mademoiselle  So-and-so  ! ” 

COn  the  next  day  she  looked  at  herself,  hut  not 
accidentally,  and  doubted.  “ Where  was  my  sense  ? ” 
she  said ; ‘‘  No,  I am  ugly.”  She  had  simply  slept 
badly,  her  eyes  were  heavy  and  her  cheeks  pale. 


THE  ROSE  AN  IMPLEMENT  OF  WAR.  109 


She  had  not  felt  very  joj^ous  on  the  previous  clay 
when  she  fancied  herself  pretty  ; but  was  sad  at  no 
longer  believing  it.  She  did  not  look  at  herself 
again,  and  for  upwards  of  a fortnight  tried  to  dress 
her  hair  with  her  back  to  the  glas^  In  the  evening, 
after  dinner,  she  usually  worked  II  her  embroidery 
in  the  drawing-room,  while  Jean  Valjean  read  by 
her  side.  Once  she  raised  her  eyes  from  her  work, 
and  was  greatly  surprised  by  the  anxious  way  in 
which  her  father  was  gazing  at  her.  Another  time 
she  was  walking  along  the  street,  and  fancied  she 
heard  some  one  behind  her,  whom  she  did  not  see, 
say,  “ A pretty  woman,  but  badly  dressed.”  “ Non- 
sense,” she  thought,  “ it  is  not  I,  for  I am  well- 
dressed  and  ugly.”  At  that  time  she  wore  her  plush 
bonnet  and  merino  dress.  One  day,  at  last,  she  was 
in  the  garden,  and  heard  poor  old  Toussaint  saying, 
“ Master,  do  you  notice  how  pretty  our  young  lady 
is  growing  ? ” Cosette  did  not  hear  her  father’s 
answer,  for  Toussaint’s  words  produced  a sort  of 
commotion  in  her.  She  ran  out  of  the  garden  up 
to  her  room,  looked  in  the  glass,  which  she  had  not 
done  for  three  months,  and  uttered  a cry,  — she 
dazzled  herself. 

She  was  beautiful  and  pretty,  and  could  not  refrain 
from  being  of  the  same  opinion  as  Toussaint  and  her 
glass.  Her  figure  was  formed,  her  skin  had  grown 
white,  her  hair  was  glossy,  and  an  unknown  splen- 
dor was  kindled  in  her  blue  eyes.  The  consciousness 
of  her  beauty  came  to  her  fully  in  a minute,  like  the 
sudden  dawn  of  day  ;[]others,  besides,  noticed  her, 
Toussaint  said  so ; it  was  evidently  to  her  that  the 


no 


THE  EUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


passer-by  alluded,  and  doubt  AYas  no  longer  possible. 
She  returned  to  the  garden,  believing  herself  a queen, 
hearing  the  birds  sing,  though  it  was  winter,  seeing 
the  golden  sky,  the  sun  amid  the  trees,  flowers  on  the 
shrubs;  she  was  Avild,  distraught,  and  in  a state  of 
ineffable  ravishmentj  On  his  side,  Jean  Valjean 
experienced  a profound  and  inexplicable  contraction 
of  the  heart ; for  some  time  past,  in  truth,  he  had 
contemplated  with  terror  the  beauty  which  daily 
appeared  more  radiant  in  Cosette’s  SAveet  face.  It 
Avas  a laughing  daAAui  for  all,  but  most  mournful  for 
him. 

Cosette  had  been  for  a long  time  beautiful  ere  she 
perceived  the  fact,  but,  from  the  first  day,  this  un- 
expected light  Avhich  sloAvly  rose  and  gradually  en- 
A^eloped  the  girl’s  entire  person  hurt  Jean  Valjean’s 
sombre  eyes.  He  felt  that  it  Avas  a change  in  a 
happy  life,  so  happy  that  he  did  not  dare  stir  in  it, 
for  fear  of  deranging  it  someAvhere.  This  inaji,  who 
had  passed  through  every  possible  distress,^ho  Avas 
still  bleeding  from  the  Avounds  dealt  him  by  his 
destiny,  Avho  had  been  almost  Avicked,  and  had  be- 
come almost  a saint,  Avho,  after  dragging  the  galley 
chain,  Avas  noAv  dragging  the  invisible  but  Aveighty 
chain  of  indefinite  infamy ; tliis  man  Avhom  the  law 
had  not  liberated,  and  who  might  at  any  moment  be 
recaptured  and  taken  from  the  obscurity  of  Aurtue  to 
the  broad  daylight  of  further  opprobrium,  — this  ma^ 
accepted  CA^erything,  excused  everything,  pardoned 
everything,  blessed  everything,  Avished  CA^erything 
Avell,  and  only  asked  one  thing  of  Providence,  of 
men,  of  the  laAvs,  of  society,  of  nature,  of  the  Avorld, 


THE  ROSE  AN  IMPLEMENT  OF  WAR.  Ill 


— that  Cosette  should  love  him,  that  Cosette  might 
continue  to  love  him ; that  God  would  not  prevent 
the  heart  of  this  child  turning  to  him  and  remaining 
with  him  ! Loved  by  Cosette  he  felt  cured,  at  rest, 
appeased,  overwhelmed,  rewarded,  and  crowned. 
With  Cosette’s  love  all  was  well,  and  he  asked  no 
more,  l^ad  any  one  said  to  him,  “Would  you  like 
to  be  Letter  off?”  he  would  have  answered,  “No.” 
Had  God  said  to  him,  “ Do  you  wish  for  heaven  ? ” 
he  would  have  answered,  “ I should  lose  by  it.^  All 
that  could  affect  this  situation,  even  on  the  surface, 
appeared  to  him  the  beginning  of  something  else. 
[He  had  never  known  thoroughly  what  a woman’s 
Deauty  was,  but  he  understood  instinctively  that  it 
was  terrible.  This  beauty,  which  continually  ex- 
panded more  triumphantly  and  superbly  by  his  side 
upon  the  ingenuous  and  formidable  brow  of  the  child, 
from  the  depths  of  his  ugliness,  old  age,  misery,  rep- 
robation, and  despondency,  terrified  him,  an^he  said 
to  himself,  “ How  beautiful  she  is  ! what  will  become 
of  me  ? ” Here  lay  the  difference  between  his  ten- 
derness and  that  of  a mother,  — what  he  saw  with 
agony  a mother  would  have  seen  with  joy. 

The  first  symptoms  speedily  manifested  themselves. 
From  the  day  when  Cosette  said  to  herself,  “ I am 
decidedly  good-looking,”  she  paid  attention  to  her 
toilet.  She  remembered  the  remark  of  the  passer-by, 

— pretty,  but  badly  dressed,  — a blast  of  the  oracle 
which  passed  by  her  and  died  out,  after  depositing 
in  her  heart  one  of  those  two  germs  which  are  des- 
tined at  a later  period  to  occupy  a woman’s  entire 
life,  — coquettishness.  The  other  is  love.  With 


112 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


faith  in  her  beauty,  all  her  feminine  soul  was  ex- 
panded within  her ; she  had  a horror  of  merinos,  and 
felt  ashamed  of  plush.  Her  father  never  refused  her 
anything/and  she  knew  at  once  the  whole  science  of 
the  hat,  the  dress,  the  mantle,  the  slipper,  and  the 
sleeve,  of  the  fabric  that  suits,  and  the  color  that  is 
becoming,  — the  science  which  makes  the  Parisian 
woman  something  so  charming,  profound,  and  dan- 
gerous. The  expression  “ femme  capi tense  ” was 
invented  for  the  Parisian^  In  less  than  a month 
little  Cosette  was  in  this  Thebais  of  the  Rue  de 
Babylone,  not  only  one  of  the  prettiest  women,  which 
is  something,  but  one  of  the  begt  dressed  in  Paris, 
which  is  a great  deal  more.  |She  would  have  liked 
to  meet  her  “ passer-by,”  to  see  what  he  would  say, 
and  teach  him  a lesson.  The  fact  is,  that  she  was 
in  every  respect  ravishing,  and  could  admirably  dis- 
tinguish a bonnet  of  Gerard’s  from  one  of  Herbaut’s^ 
Jean  Valjean  regarded  these  ravages  with  anxiety, 
and  while  feeling  that  he  could  never  do  more  than 
crawl  or  walk  at  the  most,  he  could  see  Cosette’s 
wings  growing.  |However,  by  the  simple  inspection 
of  Cosette’s  toilet,  a woman  would  have  seen  that  she 
had  no  mother.  Certain  small  proprieties  and  social 
conventionalisms  were  not  observed  by  Cosette ; a 
mother,  for  instance,  would  have  told  her  that  an 
unmarried  girl  does  not  wear  brocaded 

The  first  day  that  Cosette  went  out  in  her  dress 
and  cloak  of  black  brocade,  and  her  white  crape 
bonnet,  she  took  Jean  Valjean’s  arm,  gay,  radiant, 
blushing,  proud,  and  striking.  “ Father,”  she  said, 

“ how  do  you  think  I look  ? ” Jean  Valjean  replied, 


THE  KOSE  AN  BIPLEMENT  OF  WAR.  113 


ill  a voice  wliich  resembled  the  bitter  voice  of  an 
eniious  person,  “ Charming.”  During  the  walk 
he  was  as  usual,  but  when  he  returned  home  he 
asked  Cosette,  — 

“ Will  you  not  put  on  that  dress  and  bonnet,  you 
know  which,  again  ? ” 

ghis  took  place  in  Cosette’s  room ; she  returned 
to  the  wardrobe  in  which  her  boarding-school  dress 
was  hanging."] 

“ That  disguise  ? ” she  said,  “ how  can  you  expect 
it,  father  ? Oli,  no,  indeed,  I shall  never  put  on 
those  horrors  again ; with  that  thing  on  my  head  I 
look  like  a regular  dowdy.” 

Jean  Valjeau  heaved  a deep  sigh. 

From  that  moment  he  noticed  that  Cosette,  who 
hitherto  had  wished  to  stay  at  home,  saying,  “Father, 
I amuse  myself  much  better  here  with  you,”  now 
constantly  asked  to  go  out.  In  truth,  what  good  is 
it  for  a girl  to  have  a pretty  face  and  a delicious 
toilet  if  she  does  not  show  them  ? "^He  also  noticed 
that  Cosette  no  longer  had  the  same  liking  for  the 
back-yard,  and  at  present  preferred  remaining  in  the 
garden,  where  she  walked,  without  displeasure,  near 
the  railings.  Jean  Valjean  never  set  foot  in  the 
garden,  but  remained  in  the  back-yard,  like  the  dog. 
Cosette,  knowing  herself  to  be  beautiful,  lost  the 
gi’ace  of  being  ignorant  of  the  fact,  an  exquisite 
grace,  for  beauty  heightened  by  simplicity  is  ineffable, 
and  nothing  is  so  adorable  as  a beauteous  innocent 
maiden  who  walks  along  unconsciously,  holding  in 
her  hand  the  key  of  a Paradise.  But  what  she  lost 
in  ingenuous  grace  she  regained  in  a pensive  and 

VOL.  IV.  8 


114 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


serious  charm.  Her  whole  person,  impregnated  with 
tlie  joys  of  youth,  innocence,  and  beauty,  exhaled  a 
splendid  melancholy  It  was  at  this  period  that 
Marius  saw  her  again  at  the  Luxemboui’g,  after  an 
interval  of  six  months. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


THE  BATTLE  BEGINS. 

CosETTE  was  in  her  shadow,  as  Marius  was  in 
his,  all  ready  to  be  kindled.  Destiny,  with  its 
mysterious  and  fatal  patience,  brought  slowly  to- 
gether these  two  beings,  all  charged  iHth,  and  pining 
in,  the  stormy  electricity  of  passion,  — these  two 
souls  which  bore  love  as  the  clouds  bore  thunder,  and 
were  destined  to  come  together  and  be  blended  in  a 
glance  like  the  clouds  in  a storm.  The  power  of  a 
glanee  has  been  so  abused  in  love-romances  that  it 
has  been  discredited  in  the  end,  and  a writer  dares 
hardly  assert  nowadays  that  two  beings  fell  in  love 
because  they  looked  at  each  other.  And  yet,  that  is 
the  way,  and  the  sole  way,  in  which  people  fall  in 
love  ; the  rest  is  merely  the  rest,  and  comes  after- 
wards. Nothing  is  more  real  than  the  mighty  shocks 
which  two  souls  give  each  other  by  exchanging  this 
spark.  At  the  hour  when  Cosette  unconsciously 
gave  that  glance  which  troubled  Marius,  IMarius 
did  not  suspect  that  he  too  gave  a glance  which 
troubled  Cosette.  For  a long  time  she  had  seen  and 
examined  him  in  the  way  girls  see  and  examine, 
while  looking  elsewhere.  IMarius  was  still  thinking 
Cosette  ugly,  when  Cosette  had  already  considered 
^larius  handsome,  but  as  the  young  man  paid  no 


116 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


attention  to  her  he  was  an  object  of  indifference, 
|]Still  she  could  not  refrain  from  saying  to  herself  that 
he  had  silky  hair,  fine  eyes,  regular  teeth,  an  agree- 
able voice,  when  she  heard  him  talking  with  his  com- 
panions ; that  he  perhaps  walked  badly,  but  with  a 
grace  of  his  own,  that  he  did  not  appear  at  all  silly, 
that  his  whole  person  was  noble,  gentle,  simple,  and 
proud ; and,  lastly,  that  though  he  seemed  poor,  he 
had  the  bearing  of  a gentleman!]’ 

On  the  day  when  their  eyes  met,  and  at  length 
suddenly  said  to  each  other  the  first  obscure  and 
ineffable  things  which  the  eye  stammers,  Cosette 
did  not  understand  it  at  first,  ^he  returned  pen- 
sively to  the  house  in  the  Rue  de  I’Ouest,  where 
Jean  Valjean  was  spending  six  weeks,  according  to 
his  wontj  Wlien  she  awoke  the  next  morning  she 
thought  of  the  young  stranger,  so  long  indifferent 
and  cold,  who  now  seemed  to  pay  attention  to  her, 
and  this  attention  did  not  appear  at  all  agreeable  to . 
her  ; on  the  contrary,  she  felt  a little  angry  with  the 
handsome  disdainful  man.  IlA.  warlike  feeling  was 
arouse^  and  she  felt  a very  childish  joy  at  the 
thought  that  she  was  at  length  about  to  be  avenged  ; 
knowing  herself  to  be  lovely,  she  felt,  though  in  an 
indistinct  way,  that  she  had  a weapon.  Women 
play  with  their  beauty  as  lads  do  with  their  knife, 
and  cut  themselves  with  it.  Our  readers  will 
remember  Marius’s  hesitations,  palpitations,  and 
terrors ; he  remained  on  his  bench,  and  did  not 
approach,  and  this  vexed  Cosette.  One  day  she 
said  to  Jean  Valjean,  “Father,  suppose  we  take  a 
walk  in  that  direction  ? ” Seeing  that  Marius  did 


THE  BATTLE  BEGINS. 


117 


not  come  to  lier,  she  went  to  him,  for  in  such 
cases,  every  woman  resembles  hlahomet.  |And  then, 
strange  it  is,  the  first  symptom  of  true  love  in  a 
young  man  is  timidity  ; in  a girl  it  is  boldness.  This 
^vill  surprise,  and  yet  nothing  is  more  simple  ; the 
two  sexes  have  a tendency  to  approach,  and  each 
assumes  the  qualities  of  the  othej;^  On  this  day 
Cosette’s  glance  drove  Marius  mad,  while  his  glance 
made  Cosette  tremble.  Marius  went  away  confiding, 
and  Cosette  restless.  Now  they  adored  each  other. 
Efhe  first  thing  that  Cosette  experienced  was  a con- 
fused and  deep  sorrow ; it  seemed  to  her  that  her 
soul  had  become  black  in  one  day,  and  she  no  longer 
recognized  herself.  The  whiteness  of  the  soul  of 
maidens,  which  is  composed  of  eoldness  and  gayety, 
resembles  snow ; it  melts  before  love,  which  is  its  sun.~l 
Cosette  knew  not  what  love  was,  and  she  had 
never  heard  the  word  uttered  in  its  earthly  sense. 
In  the  books  of  profane  musie  which  entered  the 
convent,  tambour  or  pandoiir  was  substituted  for 
amour.  This  produced  enigmas,  which  exercised 
the  imagination  of  the  big  girls,  such  as  ; “ Ah  ! how 
agreeable  the  drummer  is  ! ” or,  “ Pity  is  not  a pan- 
dour  ! ” But  Cosette  left  the  convent  at  too  early  an 
age  to  trouble  herself  much  about  the  “ drummer,” 
and  hence  did  not  know  what  name  to  give  to  that 
which  now  troubled  her.  But  are  we  the  less  ill 
through  being  ignorant  of  the  name  of  our  disease  ? 
|She  loved  with  the  more  passion,  because  she  loved 
in  ignorance ; she  did  not  know  whether  it  was  good 
or  bad,  useful  or  dangerous,  neeessary  or  mortal, 
eternal  or  transient,  permitted  or  prohibited,  — she 


118 


THE  HUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


loved.  She  would  have  been  greatly  surjjrised  had 
any  one  said  to  her,  “ You  do  not  sleep  ? that  is  for- 
bidden.  You  do  not  eat  ? that  is  very  wrong.  You 
have  an  oppression  and  beating  of  the  heart  ? that 
cannot  be  tolerated.  You  blush  and  turn  pale  when 
a certain  person  dressed  in  black  appears  at  tlie  end 
of  a certain  green  walk  ? why,  that  is  abominable  ! 
She  would  not  have  understood,  and  would  have 
replied,  “ How  can  I be  to  blame  in  a matter  in  which 
I can  do  nothing,  and  of  which  I know  notliing  ? ” 

It  happened  that  the  love  which  presented  itself 
was  the  one  most  in  harmony  with  the  state  of  her 
soul ; it  was  a sort  of  distant  adoration,  a dumb  con- 
templation, the  deification  of  an  unknown  man.  It 
was  the  apparition  of  youth  to  youth,  the  dream  of 
nights  become  a romance  and  remaining  a dream, 
the  wished-for  phantom  at  length  realized  and  in- 
carnated, but  as  yet  ha\’ing  no  name,  or  wrong,  or 
flaAV,  or  claim,  or  defect ; in  a word,  the  distant  lover 
who  remained  idealized,  a chimera  which  assumed  a 
shape.  Any  more  palpable  and  nearer  meeting  would 
at  this  first  stage  have  startled  Cosette,  who  was  still 
half  plunged  in  the  magnifying  fog  of  the  cloister. 
She  had  all  the  fears  of  children  and  all  the  fears  of 
nuns  blended  together,  and  the  essence  of  the  con- 
vent, with  which  she  had  been  impregnated  for  five 
years,  was  still  slowly  evaporating  from  her  whole 
person,,  and  making  evei’ything  tremble  around  her. 
In  this  situation,  it  was  not  a lover  she  wanted,  not 
even  an  admirer,  but  a vision,  and  she  began  ador- 
ing hlarius  as  something  charming,  luminous,  and 
impossible. 


THE  BATTLE  BEGINS. 


119 


As  extreme  simplicity  trenches  on  extreme  coquetry, 
she  smiled  upon  him  most  franklyTj  She  daily 
awaited  impatiently  the  hour  for  the  walk ; she  saw 
jMarius,  she  felt  indescribably  happy,  and  sincerely 
believed  that  she  was  expressing  her  entire  thoughts 
when  she  said  to  Jean  Yaljean,  “What  a delicious 
garden  the  Luxembourg  is ! ” Marius  and  Cosette 
existed  for  one  another  in  the  night : they  did  not 
speak,  they  did  not  bow,  they  did  not  know  each 
other,  but  they  met ; and  like  the  stars  in  the 
heavens,  which  are  millions  of  leagues  separate, 
they  lived  by  looking  at  each  other.  £it  is  thus 
that  Cosette  gradually  became  a woman,  and  was 
developed  into  a beautiful  and  loving  woman,  con- 
scious of  her  beauty  and  ignorant  of  her  love. 
She  was  a coquette  into  the  bargain,  through  her 
innocence.  "I 


CHAPTER  VIL 


JEAN  VALJEAN  IS  VERT  SAD. 

All  situations  have  their  instincts,  and  old  and 
eternal  mother  Nature  warned  Jean  Valjean  darkly 
of  the  presence  of  Marius.  Jean  Valjean  trembled 
in  the  depth  of  his  mind  ; he  saw  nothing,  knew 
nothing,  and  yet  regarded  with  obstinate  attention 
the  darkness  in  which  he  was,  as  if  he  felt  on  one 
side  something  being  built  up,  on  the  other  some- 
thing crumbling  away.  Marius,  who  was  also  warned 
by  the  same  mother  Nature,  did  all  in  his  power  to 
conceal  himself  from  the  father,  but  for  all  that, 
Jean  Valjean  sometimes  perceived  him.  Marius’s 
manner  was  no  longer  wise ; he  displayed  clumsy 
prudence  and  awkward  temerity.  He  no  longer 
came  quite  close  to  them,  as  he  had  formerly  done, 
he  sat  down  at  a distance,  and  remained  in  an 
ecstasy : he  had  a book,  and  pretended  to  read  it ; 
Avhy  did  he  pretend  ? Formerly  he  came  in  an  old 
coat,  and  now  he  came  every  day  in  his  new  one. 
Jean  Valjean  was  not  quite  sure  whether  he  did  not 
have  his  hair  dressed  ; he  had  a strange  way  of  roll- 
ing his  eyes,  and  wore  gloves, — in  short,  Jean  Valjean 
cordially  detested  the  young  man.  £]Cosette  did  not 
allow  anything  to  be  guessed.  Without  knoAving  ex- 
actly what  was  the  matter  with  her,  she  had  a feel- 


JEAN  VAUEAN  IS  VERY  SAD. 


121 


ing  that  it  was  something  which  must  be  hidden^ 
There  was  a parallelism  which  annoyed  Jean  Valjean 
between  the  taste  for  dress  which  had  come  to  Co- 
sette,  and  the  habit  of  wearing  new  clothes  displayed 
by  this  stranger.  It  was  an  accident,  perhaps,  — of 
course  it  was,  — but  a menacing  accident. 

He  never  opened  his  mouth  to  Cosette  about  this 
stranger.  One  day,  however,  he  could  not  refrain, 
and  said,  with  that  vague  despair  which  suddenly 
thrusts  the  probe  into  its  own  misfortune,  “ That 
young  man  looks  like  a pedant.”  Cosette,  a year 
pre^■iously,  when  still  a careless  little  girl,  would 
have  answered,  “ Oh,  no,  he  is  very  good-looking.” 
Ten  years  later,  with  the  love  of  Marius  in  her  heart, 
she  would  have  replied,  “An  insufferable  pedant, 
you  are  quite  right.”  At  the  present  moment  of  her 
life  and  heart,  she  restricted  herself  to  saying,  with 
supreme  calmness,  “ That  young  man  ! ” as  if  she 
looked  at  him  for  the  first  time  in  her  life.  “ How 
stupid  I am,”  Jean  Valjean  thought,  “she  had  not 
even  noticed  him,  and  now  I have  pointed  him  out 
to  her.”  Oh,  simplicity  of  old  people  ! oh,  depth  of 
children ! jit  is  another  law  of  these  first  years  of 
suffering  and  care,  of  these  sharp  struggles  of  first 
love  with  first  obstacles,  that  the  maiden  cannot  be 
caught  in  any  snare,  while  the  young  man  falls  into 
all.  Jeau  Valjean  had  begun  a secret  war  against 
IMarius,  which  Marius,  iii  the  sublime  stupidity  of  his 
passion  and  his  age,  did  not  guess.  Jean  Valjean  laid 
all  sorts  of  snares  for  him.  He  changed  his  hours,  he 
changed  his  bench,  he  left  his  handkerchief,  he  went 
alone  to  the  Luxembourg : and  Marius  went  headlong 


122 


THE  HUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


into  the  trap,  and  to  all  these  notes  of  interrogation 
which  Jean  Valjean  planted  in  the  road,  ingenuously 
answered,  “ Yes.”  Cosette,  however,  remained  im- 
mured in  her  apparent  carelessness  and  imperturbable 
tranquillity,  so  that  Jean  Yaljean  arrived  at  this  con- 
clusion : “ That  humbug  is  madly  in  love  with  Cosette, 
but  Cosette  doe?  not  even  know  that  he  exists.” 

For  all  that,  though,  he  had  a painful  tremor  in 
his  heart,  for  the  minute  when  Cosette  would  love 
might  arrive  at  any  instant.  Does  not  all  this  com- 
mence with  indifference  ? Only  once  did  Cosette 
commit  an  error  and  startle  him  ; he  arose  from  his 
bench  to  go  home  after  three  hours’  sitting,  and  she 
said,  “What,  already £3  Jean  Valjean  did  not  give 
up  his  walks  at  the  Luxembourg,  as  he  did  not  wish 
to  do  anything  singular,  or  arouse  Cosette’s  attention ; 
but  during  the  hours  so  sweet  for  the  two  lovers, 
while  Cosette  whs  sending  her  smile  to  the  intoxi- 
cated iSIarius,  who  only  perceived  this,  and  now  saw 
nothing  more  in  the  world  than  a radiant  adored 
face,  Jean  Valjean  fixed  on  Marius  flashing  and  ter- 
rible eyes.  He  who  had  ended  by  no  longer  be- 
lie^■ing  himself  capable  of  a malevolent  feeling,  had 
moments  when  he  felt,  if  JMarius  were  present,  as  if 
he  were  growing  savage  and  ferocious ; and  those  old 
depths  of  his  soul  which  had  formerly  contained  so 
much  anger  opened  again  against  this  young  man. 
It  seemed  to  him  as  if  unkno^vn  craters  were  again 
being  formed  within  him,  What ! the  fellow  was 
there  ! What  did  he  come  to  do  ? he  came  to  sniff, 
examine,  and  attempt ; he  came  to  say.  Well,  why 
not?  he  came  to  prowl  round  his,  Jean  Valjean’s, 


JEAN  VALJEAN  IS  VERY  SAD. 


123 


life,  to  prowl  round) his  happiness,  and  carry  it  away 
from  him.  Jean  Yaljean  added,  “Yes,  that  is  it! 
What  does  Fe  come  to  seek  ? An  adventure.  What 
does  he  want  ? A love-atfair.  A love-affair  ? and  1 1 
Ydiat?  I was  first  the  most  wretched  of  men,  and 
then  the  most  unhappy.  I have  spent  sixty  years  on 
my  knees,  I have  suffered  all  that  a man  can  suffer,  I 
have  grown  old  without  ever  having  been  young. 
I have  lived  without  family,  parents,  friends,  chil- 
dren, or  wife.  I have  left  some  of  my  blood  on  every 
stone,  on  every  bramble,  on  every  w^all.  I have  been 
gentle,  though  men  were  harsh  to  me,  and  good 
though  they  were  wicked.  I have  become  an  honest 
man  again,  in  spite  of  everything  ; I have  repented  of 
the  evil  I did,  and  pardoned  the  evil  done  to  me,  and 
at  the  moment  when  I am  rewarded,  when  all  is  fin- 
ished, when  I touched  my  object,  when  I have  what 
I wish,  — and  it  is  but  fair  as  I have  paid  for  it  and 
earned  it,  — all  this  is  to  fade  away,  and  I am  to 
lose  Cosette,  my  love,  my  joy,  my  soul,  because  it 
has  pleased  a long-legged  ass  to  saunter  about  the 
Luxembourg  garden  ll^l 

Then  his  eyeballs  were  filled  with  a mournful  and 
extraordinary  brilliancy ; he  was  no  longer  a man 
looking  at  a man,  no  longer  an  enemy  looking  at  an 
enemy,  he  was  a dog  watching  a robber.  Our  readers 
know  the  rest.  Marius  continued  to  be  foolish,  and 
one  day  followed  Cosette  to  the  Rue  de  I’Ouest. 
Another  day  he  spoke  to  the  porter,  and  the  porter 
spoke  in  his  turn,  and  said  to  Jean  Yaljean,  “Do 
you  happen  to  know,  sir,  a curious  young  man,  who 
has  been  making  inquiries  about  you  ? ” The  next 


124 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


day  Jean  Valjean  gave  ]\Iarius  that  look  -which 
Marius  at  length  noticed,  and  a week  later  Jean 
Valjean  went  away.  He  made  a vow  that  he  would 
never  again  set  foot  in  the  Rue  de  I’Ouest  or  the  Luxem- 
bourg, and  returned  to  the  Rue  Plumet.  Cosette  did 
not  complain,  she  said  nothing,  she  asked  no  questions, 
she  did  not  attempt  to  discover  any  motive,  for  she 
had  reached  that  stage  when  a girl  fears  that  her 
thoughts  may  be  perused,  or  she  may  betray  herself. 
Jean  Valjean  had  no  experience  of  these  miseries, 
the  only  ones  which  are  charming,  and  the  only  ones 
he  did  not  know,  and  on  this  account  he  did  not 
comprehend  the  grave  significance  of  Cosette’s  silence. 
Still,  he  noticed  that  she  became  sad,  and  he  became 
gloomy.  Inexperience  was  contending  on  both  sides. 
Once  he  made  an  essay,  by  asking  Cosette,  “ Will  you 
go  to  the  Luxembourg  ? ” A beam  illuminated  Co- 
sette’s pale  face ; “ Yes,”  she  said.  They  went  there, 
but  three  months  had  elapsed,  and  Marius  no  longer 
went  there,  — there  was  no  Marius  present.  The 
next  day  Jean  Valjean  again  asked  Cosette,  “ Will 
you  go  to  the  Luxembourg  ? ” She  answered  sadly 
and  gently,  “No.”  Jean  Valjean  was  hurt  by  the 
sadness,  and  heart-broken  by  the  gentleness. 

What  was  taking  place  in  this  young  and  already 
so  impenetrable  mind  ? What  was  going  to  be  accom- 
plished ? What  was  happening  to  Cosette’s  soul  ? 
Sometimes,  instead  of  going  to  bed,  Jean  Valjean 
would  remain  seated  by  his  bedside  with  his  head 
between  his  hands,  and  spent  whole  nights  in  asking 
himself,  “ What  has  Cosette  on  her  mind  ? ” and  in 
thinkiijg  of  the  things  of  which  she  might  be  thinking. 


JEAN  VALJEAN  IS  VEEY  SAD. 


125 


(bh,  at  such  moments  what  sad  glances  he  turned  tow- 
ard the  convent,  that  chaste  summit,  that  abiding-place 
of  angels,  that  inaccessible  glacier  of  virtue ! With 
what  despairing  ra\dshment  did  he  contemplate  that 
garden,  full  of  ignored  flowers  and  immured  virgins, 
where  all  the  perfumes  and  all  the  souls  ascend 
direct  to  heaven  ! How  he  adored  that  Eden,  now 
closed  against  him  forever,  and  which  he  had  volun- 
tarily and  madly  left ! How  he  lamented  his  self- 
denial  and  his  madness  in  bringing  Cosette  back  to 
the  world ! He  was  the  poor  hero  of  the  sacrifice, 
seized  and  hurled  down  by  his  own  devotion.  How 
he  said  to  himself.  What  have  I done  ? However, 
nothing  of  this  was  visible  to  Cosette,  — neither  tem- 
per nor  roughness,  — it  was  ever  the  same  serene 
kind  face.  Jean  Yaljean’s  manner  was  even  more 
tender  and  paternal  than  before ; and  if  anything 
could  have  shown  that  he  was  less  joyous,  it  was  his 
greater  gentleness. 

On  her  side,  Cosette  was  pining ; she  suffered 
fi’om  Marius’s  absence,  as  she  had  revelled  in  his 
presence,  singularly,  and  not  exactly  knowing  why. 
When  Jean  Valjean  ceased  taking  her  for  her  usual 
walk,  a feminine  instinct  had  whispered  to  her  heart 
that  she  must  not  appear  to  be  attached  to  the 
Luxembourg,  and  that  if  she  displayed  indifference 
in  the  matter  her  father  would  take  her  back  to  it. 
But  days,  weeks,  and  months  succeeded  each  other, 
for  Jean  Valjean  had  tacitly  accepted  Cosette’s  tacit 
consent.  She  regretted  it,  but  it  was  too  late,  and 
on  the  day  when  they  returned  to  the  Luxembourg, 
Marius  was  no  longer  there.  He  had  disappeared. 


126 


THE  EUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


then,  it  was  all  over.  What  eould  she  do?  Would 
she  ever  see  him  again  ? She  felt  a contraction  of 
the  heart  which  nothing  dilated  and  which  daily  in- 
creased ; she  no  longer  knew  whether  it  were  sum- 
mer or  winter,  sunshine  or  rain,  whether  the  birds 
were  singing,  whether  it  was  the  dahlia  or  the  daisy 
season,  's^diether  the  Luxembourg  was  more  charm- 
ing than  the  Tuileries,  whether  the  linen  brought 
home  by  the  washerwoman  was  too  much  or  insuffi- 
ciently starched,  or  if  Toussaint  had  gone  to  market 
well  or  dl;'  and  she  remained  crushed,  absorbed,  atten- 
tive to  one  thought  alone,  with  a vague  and  fixed 
eye,  like  a person  gazing  through  the  darkness  at  the 
deep  black  spot  where  a phantom  has  just  vanished. 
Still,  she  did  not  allow  Jean  Valjean  to  see  anything 
but  her  pallor,  |and  her  face  Avas  ever  gentle  to  him. 
This  pallor,  though,  was  more  than  sufficient  to  render 
Jean  Valjean  anxious,  and  at  times  he  would  ask  her  : 

“ What  is  the  matter  with  you  ? ” 

And  she  answered,  — 

“ Nothing.” 

After  a silence,  she  Avould  add,  as  if  guessing  that 
he  was  sad  too,  — 

“ And,  father,  is  there  anything  the  matter  with 


you  ? ” 


With  me  ? Oh,  nothing,”  he  Avould  r» 


(( 


These  two  beings  Avho  had  loved  each  other  so 
exclusively,  and  one  of  them  with  such  a touching 
loAT,  and  had  lived  for  a long  time  one  through  the 
other,  Avere  noAv  suffering  side  by  side,  one  on  account 
of  the  other,  Avithout  confessing  it,  AAdthout  anger, 
and  Avith  a smile. 


X 


CHAPTER  VIIL 

THE  CHAIN-GANG. 

The  more  unhappy  of  the  two  was  Jean  Valjean  ; 
for  youth,  even  in  its  sorrow,  has  always  a brilliancy 
of  its  own.  At  certain  moments  Jean  Valjean  suf- 
fered so  intensely  that  he  became  childish,  for  it  is 
the  peculiarity  of  grief  to  bring  out  a man’s  childish 
side.  He  felt  inwncibly  that  Cosette  was  slipping 
from  him  ; and  he  would  have  liked  to  struggle, 
hold  her  back,  and  excite  her  by  some  external  and 
brilliant  achievement.  These  ideas,  childish,  as  we 
said,  but  at  the  same  time  senile,  gave  him  through 
their  very  childishness  a very  fair  notion  of  the 
influence  of  gold  lace  upon  the  imagination  of  girls. 
One  day  Count  Coutard,  Commandant  of  Paris,  passed 
along  the  street  on  horseback,  and  in  fidl-dress  uni- 
form. He  en'vded  this  gilded  man,  and  said  to  him- 
self : What  a happiness  it  would  be  to  be  able  to 
put  on  that  coat,  which  was  an  undeniable  thing ; 
that  if  Cosette  saw  him  in  it  it  would  dazzle  her, 
and  when  he  passed  before  the  Tuileries  gates  the 
sentinels  would  present  arms  to  him,  and  that  would 
be  sufficient  for  Cosette,  and  prevent  her  looking  at 
young  men. 

An  unexpected  shock  was  mingled  with  his  sad 


128 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


thoughts.  In  the  isolated  life  they  led,  and  since 
they  had  gone  to  reside  in  the  Rue  Plumet,  they 
had  one  habit.  They  sometimes  had  the  pleasure 
of  going  to  see  the  sun  rise,  a species  of  sweet  joy, 
which  is  agreeable  to  those  who  are  entering  life 
and  those  who  are  leaving  it.  To  walk  about  at 
daybreak  is  equivalent,  with  the  man  who  loves 
solitude,  to  walking  about  at  night  with  the  gayety 
of  natnre  added.  The  streets  are  deserted  and  the 
birds  sing.  Cosette,  herself  a bird,  generally  woke 
at  an  early  hour.  These  morning  excursions  were 
arranged  on  the  previous  evening  ; he  proposed  and 
she  accepted.  This  was  arranged  like  a plot ; they 
went  out  before  day,  and  it  was  a delight  for  Cosette, 
as  these  innocent  eccentricities  please  youth.  Jean 
Valjean  had,  as  we  know,  a liking  to  go  to  but  little 
frequented  places,  — to  solitary  nooks,  and  forgotten 
spots.  There  were  at  that  time,  in  the  vicinity  of 
the  gates  of  Paris,  poor  fields,  almost  forming  part 
of  the  city,  where  sickly  wheat  grew  in  summer,  and 
which  in  autumn,  after  the  harvest  was  got  in,  did 
not  look  as  if  they  had  been  reaped,  but  skinned. 
Jean  Valjean  had  a predilection  for  these  fields,  and 
Cosette  did  not  feel  wearied  there  ; it  was  solitude 
for  him  and  liberty  for  her.  There  she  became  a 
little  girl  again ; she  ran  about  and  almost  played ; 
she  took  off  her  bonnet,  laid  it  on  Jean  Valjean’s 
knees,  and  plucked  flowers.  She  watched  the  but- 
terflies, but  did  not  catch  them ; for  humanity  and 
tenderness  spring  up  with  love,  and  the  maiden  who 
has  in  her  heart  a trembling  and  fragile  ideal  feels 
pity  for  the  butterfly’s  wing.  She  twined  poppies 


THE  CHAIN-GANG. 


129 


into  'nreatlis,  which  she  placed  on  her  head,  and 
when  the  sun  poured  its  beams  on  them  and  ren- 
dered them  almost  purple,  they  formed  a fiery  crown 
for  her  fresh  pink  face. 

Even  after  their  life  had  grown  saddened  they 
kept  up  their  habit  of  early  walks.  One  October 
moiTiing,  then,  tempted  by  the  perfect  serenity  of  the 
autumn  of  1831,  tliey  went  out,  and  found  themselves 
just  before  daybreak  near  the  Barribre  du  Maine.  It 
was  not  quite  morning  yet,  but  it  was  dawn,  a ravish- 
ing and  wild  minute.  There  were  a few  stars  in  the 
pale  azure  sky,  the  earth  was  all  black,  the  heavens 
all  white,  a shiver  ran  along  the  grass,  and  all  around 
displayed  the  mysterious  influence  of  twilight.  A 
lark,  which  seemed  mingled  with  the  stars,  was 
singing  at  a prodigious  height,  and  it  seemed  as  if 
this  hymn  of  littleness  to  infinitude  calmed  the  im- 
mensity. In  the  east  the  dark  mass  of  Yal  de  Gr&ce 
stood  out  against  the  bright  steel-blue  horizon,  and 
glittering  Yenus  rose  behind  the  dome  and  looked 
like  a soul  escaping  from  a gloomy  edifice.  All  was 
peace  and  silence,  there  was  no  one  in  the  highway ; 
and  a few  workmen,  going  to  their  daily  toil,  could 
be  indistinctly  seen  in  the  distance. 

Jean  Yaljean  was  seated  on  some  planks  deposited 
at  the  gate  of  a timber-yard  ; his  face  was  turned  to 
the  road,  and  his  back  to  the  light.  He  forgot  all 
about  the  sunrise,  for  he  had  fallen  into  one  of  those 
profound  reveries  in  which  the  mind  is  concentrated, 
which  imprison  even  the  glance  and  are  equivalent 
to  four  walls.  There  are  meditations  which  may  be 
called  wells,  and  when  you  are  at  the  bottom  it  takes. 

VOL.  IV.  9 


130 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


some  time  to  reach  the  ground  again.  Jean  Valjean 
had  descended  into  one  of  these  reveries  ; he  was 
thinking  of  Cosette,  of  the  possible  happiness  if  noth- 
ing came  betwixt  him  and  her,  of  that  light  with 
which  she  filled  his  life,  and  which  was  the  breath 
of  his  soul.  He  was  almost  happy  in  this  reverie  ; 
and  Cosette,  standing  by  his  side,  was  watching  the 
clouds  turn  pink.  All  at  once  Cosette  exclaimed, 
“ Father,  there  is  something  coming  down  there  ! ” 
Jean  Yaljean  raised  his  eyes ; Cosette  was  correct. 
The  road  which  leads  to  the  old  Barribre  du  IMaine 
is  a prolongation  of  the  Rue  de  Sevres,  and  is  inter- 
sected at  right  angles  by  the  inner  boulevard.  At 
the  spot  where  the  roads  cross,  a sound  difficult  to 
explain  at  such  an  hour  could  be  heard,  and  a sort 
of  confused  mass  appeared.  Some  shapeless  thing 
coming  along  the  boulevard  was  turning  into  the 
main  road.  It  grew  larger,  and  seemed  to  be  moving 
in  an  orderly  way  ; although  it  shook  and  heaved, 
it  seemed  to  be  a vehicle,  but  its  load  could  not  be 
distinguished.  There  were  horses,  wheels,  shouts, 
and  the  cracking  of  whips.  By  degrees  the  linea- 
ments became  fixed,  though  drowned  in  darkness. 
It  was  really  a vehicle  coming  toward  the  bai’rifere 
near  which  Jean  Valjean  was  seated ; a second 
resembling  it  followed,  then  a third,  then  a fourth  ; 
seven  carts  debouched  in  turn,  the  heads  of  the 
horses  touching  the  back  of  the  vehicles.  Figures 
moved  on  these  carts ; sparks  could  be  seen  in  the 
gloom,  looking  like  bare  sabres,  and  a clang  coidd 
be  heard  resembling  chains  being  shaken.  All  this 
advanced,  the  voices  became  louder,  and  it  was  a 


THE  CHAIN-GAXG. 


131 


formidable  thing,  such  as  issues  from  the  cavern  of 
dreams. 

On  drawing  nearer,  this  thing  assumed  a shape, 
and  stood  out  behind  the  trees  with  the  lividness  of 
an  apparition.  The  mass  grew  whiter,  and  the  grad- 
ually dauming  day  threw  a ghastly  gleam  over  this 
mass,  which  was  at  once  sepulchral  and  alive,  — the 
heads  of  the  shadows  became  the  faces  of  corpses, 
and  this  is  what  it  was.  Seven  vehicles  were  mov- 
ing in  file  along  the  road,  and  the  first  six  had  a 
singular  shape ; they  resembled  brewers’  drays,  and 
consisted  of  long  ladders  laid  upon  two  wheels,  and 
forming  a shaft  at  the  front  end.  Each  dray,  or,  to 
speak  more  correctly,  each  ladder,  was  drawn  by  a 
team  of  four  horses,  and  strange  clusters  of  men 
were  dragged  along  upon  these  ladders.  In  the 
faint  light  these  men  could  not  be  seen,  so  much  as 
di\'ined.  Twenty-four  on  each  ladder,  twelve  on 
either  side,  leaning  against  each  other,  had  their 
faces  tmmed  to  the  passers-by,  and  their  legs  hanging 
down  ; and  they  had  behind  their  back  something 
Avhich  rang  and  was  a chain,  and  something  that 
glistened,  which  was  a collar.  Each  man  had  his 
collar,  but  the  chain  was  for  all ; so  that  these  twen- 
ty-four men,  if  obliged  to  get  down  from  the  dray 
and  walk,  were  seized  by  a species  of  inexorable 
unity,  and  were  obliged  to  wind  on  the  ground  with 
the  chain  as  backbone,  very  nearly  like  centipedes. 
At  the  front  and  back  of  each  cart  stood  two  men 
armed  with  guns,  who  stood  with  their  feet  on  the 
end  of  the  chain.  The  seventh  vehicle,  a vast  four- 
gon  with  rack  sides  but  no  hood,  had  four  wheels 


132 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL, 


and  six  horses,  and  carried  a resounding  mass  of 
coppers,  boilers,  chafing-dishes,  and  chains,  among 
which  were  mingled  a few  bound  men  lying  their 
full  length,  who  seemed  to  be  ill.  This  fourgon, 
which  was  quite  open,  was  lined  with  broken-down 
hurdles,  which  seemed  to  have  been  used  for  old 
punishments. 

These  vehicles  held  the  crown  of  the  causeway ; 
and  on  either  side  marched  a double  file  of  infamous- 
lookiug  guards,  wearing  three-cornered  hats,  like  the 
soldiers  of  the  Directory,  and  dirty,  torn,  stained 
uniforms,  half  gi’ay  and  blue,  a coat  of  the  Invalides 
and  the  trousers  of  the  undertaker’s  men,  red  epau- 
lettes and  yellow  belts,  and  were  armed  with  short 
sabres,  muskets,  and  sticks.  These  sbirri  seemed 
compounded  of  the  abjectness  of  the  beggar  and  the 
authority  of  the  hangman ; and  the  one  who  appeared 
their  leader  held  a postilion’s  whip  in  his  hands. 
All  these  details  grew  more  and  more  distinct  in  the 
advancing  daylight;  and  at  the  head  and  rear  of 
the  train  marched  mounted  gendarmes  with  di’awn 
sabres.  The  train  was  so  long  that  at  the  moment 
when  the  first  vehicle  reached  the  barrifere  the  last 
had  scarce  turned  out  of  the  boulevard.  A crowd, 
which  came  no  one  knew  whence  and  formed  in  a 
second,  as  is  so  common  in  Paris,  lined  both  sides  of 
the  road,  and  looked.  In  the  side-lanes  could  be 
heard  the  shouts  of  people  calling  to  each  other,  and 
the  wooden  shoes  of  the  kitchen-gardeners  running 
up  to  have  a peep. 

The  men  piled  up  on  the  drays  allowed  themselves 
to  be  jolted  in  silence,  and  were  livid  with  the 


THE  CHAIN-GANG. 


133 


morning  chill.  They  all  wore  canvas  trousers,  and 
their  naked  feet  were  thrust  into  wooden  shoes; 
but  the  rest  of  their  attire  was  left  to  the  fancy  of 
VTetchedness.  Their  accoutrements  were  hideously 
disaccordant,  for  nothing  is  more  mournfnl  than  the 
harlequin  garb  of  rags.  There  were  crushed  hats, 
oilskin  caps,  frightful  woollen  night-caps,  and  side 
by  side  with  the  blouse,  an  out-at-elbow  black  coat. 
Some  wore  women’s  bonnets,  and  others  had  baskets, 
as  head-gear ; hairy  chests  were  visible,  and  through 
the  rents  of  the  clothes  tattooing  could  be  dis- 
tinguished, — temples  of  love,  bm-ning  hearts,  and 
cupids,  — but  ringworm  and  other  unhealthy  red 
spots  might  also  be  noticed.  Two  or  three  had 
passed  a straw  rope  through  the  side  rail  of  the 
dray,  which  hung  down  like  a stirrup  and  supported 
their  feet ; while  one  of  them  held  in  his  hand  and 
raised  to  his  mouth  something  like  a black  stone, 
which  he  seemed  to  be  gnawing,  — it  was  bread  he 
was  eating.  All  the  eyes  were  dry,  and  either  dull 
or  luminous  with  a wicked  light.  The  escort  cursed, 
but  the  chained  men  did  not  breathe  a syllable ; 
from  time  to  time  the  sound  of  a blow  dealt  with  a 
stick  on  shoulder-blades  or  heads  could  be  heard. 
Some  of  these  men  yawned  ; the  rags  were  terrible  ; 
their  feet  hung  down,  their  shoulders  oscillated,  their 
heads  struck  against  each  other,  their  irons  rattled, 
their  eyeballs  flashed  ferociously,  their  fists  clenched 
or  opened  inertly  like  the  hands  of  death,  and  in 
the  rear  of  the  chain  a band  of  children  burst  into  a 
laugh. 

This  file  of  vehicles,  whatever  their  nature  might 


134 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


be,  was  lugubrious.  It  was  plain  that  withiu  an 
hour  a shower  might  fall,  that  it  might  be  followed 
by  another,  and  then  another,  that  the  ragged  cloth- 
ing wmuld  be  drenched  ; and  that  once  Avet  through, 
these  men  Avould  not  dry  again,  and  once  chilled, 
Avould  never  groAV  Avarm  any  more ; that  then-  canvas 
trousers  Avonld  be  glued  to  their  bones  by  the  rain, 
that  water  Avoidd  fiU  their  Avooden  shoes,  that  lashes 
could  not  prevent  the  chattering  of  teeth,  that  the 
chain  Avould  continue  to  hold  them  by  the  neck,  and 
their  feet  Avould  continue  to  hang ; and  it  Avas  im- 
possible not  to  shudder  on  seeing  these  human  crea- 
tures thus  'bound  and  passive  beneath  the  cold 
autumnal  clouds,  and  surrendered  to  the  rain,  the 
breezes,  and  all  the  furies  of  the  atmosphere,  like 
trees  and  stones.  The  bloAvs  Avere  not  even  spared 
the  sick  Avho  lay  bound  Avith  ropes  and  motionless 
in  the  seA’enth  v’ehicle,  and  AA^ho  seemed  to  have 
been  throAvn  doAvn  there  like  sacks  filled  Avith 
wretchedness. 

All  at  once  the  sun  appeared,  the  immense  beam 
of  the  east  flashed  forth ; and  it  seemed  as  if  it  set 
fire  to  all  these  ferocious  heads.  Tongues  became 
untied,  and  a storm  of  furies,  oaths,  and  songs  ex- 
ploded. The  wide  horizontal  light  cut  the  whole  file 
in  tAvo,  illumining  the  heads  and  bodies,  and  leaA’ing 
the  feet  and  Avheels  in  obscurity.  Thoughts  ap- 
peared on  faces,  and  it  Avas  a fearful  thing  to  see 
demons  with  their  masks  thrown  away,  and  ferocious 
souls  laid  bare.  Some  of  the  merrier  ones  had  in 
their  mouths  quills,  through  Avhich  they  bleAV  A'ermin 
on  the  croAvd,  selecting  Avomen.  The  daAAm  caused 


THE  CHAIN-GANG. 


135 


their  lamentable  faces  to  stand  out  in  the  darkness 
of  the  shadows.  Not  one  of  these  beings  but  was 
misshapen  through  wretchedness  j and  it  was  so  mon- 
strous that  it  seemed  to  change  the  light  of  the  sun 
into  the  gleam  of  a lightning  flash.  The  first  cart- 
load had  struck  up,  and  were  droning  out  at -the  top 
of  their  voices,  with  a haggard  joviality,  a potpourri 
of  Desaugiers,  at  that  time  famous  under  the  title  of 
La  Vestale.  The  trees  shook  mournfully,  while  in  the 
side-walks  bourgeois  faces  were  listening  with  an 
idiotic  beatitude  to  these  comic  songs  chanted  by 
spectres.  In  the  chaos  of  this  train  were  all  kinds  of 
wretchedness;  there  were  there  the  facial  angles  of  all 
animals,  old  men,  youths,  naked  skulls,  gray  beards, 
cynical  monstrosities,  srdky  resignation,  savage  grins, 
mid  attitudes,  youth,  girlish  heads  with  corkscrew 
curls  on  the  temples,  infantine,  and  for  that  reason 
horrible,  faces,  and  then  countenances  of  skeletons 
which  only  lacked  death.  On  the  first  dray  could  be 
seen  a negro,  who  had  been  a slave  probably,  and 
was  enabled  to  compare  the  chains.  The  frightful 
leveller,  shame,  had  passed  over  all  these  foreheads. 
At  this  stage  of  abasement  the  last  transformations 
were  undergone  by  all  in  the  lowest  depths ; and 
ignorance,  changed  into  dulness,  was  the  equal  of 
intellect  changed  into  despair.  No  choice  was  pos- 
sible among  these  men,  who  appeared  to  be  the  pick 
of  the  mud ; and  it  was  clear  that  the  arranger  of 
this  unclean  procession  had  not  attempted  to  classify 
them.  These  beings  had  been  bound  and  coupled 
pell-mell,  probably  in  alphabetical  disorder,  and 
loaded  haphazard  on  the  vehicles.  Still,  horrors. 


136 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


when  grouped,  always  end  by  disengaging  a resultant. 
Every  addition  of  wretched  men  produces  a total ; a 
common  soul  issued  from  each  chain,  and  each  dray- 
load had  its  physiognomy.  By  the  side  of  the  man 
who  sang  was  one  who  yelled ; a third  begged ; 
another-  could  be  seen  gnashing  his  teeth  ; another 
threatened  the  passers-by ; another  blasphemed  God, 
and  the  last  was  silent  as  the  tomb.  Dante  would 
have  fancied  that  he  saw  the  seven  circles  of  the 
Inferno  in  motion.  It  was  the  march  of  the  damned 
to  the  torture,  performed  in  a sinister  way,  not  upon 
the  formidable  flashing  car  of  the  Apocalypse,  but, 
more  gloomy  still,  in  the  hangman’s  cart. 

One  of  the  keepers,  who  had  a hook  at  the  end  of 
his  stick,  from  time  to  time  attempted  to  stir  up  this 
heap  of  human  ordure.  An  old  woman  in  the  crowd 
pointed  them  to  a little  boy  of  five  years  of  age,  and 
said  to  him,  “ You  scamp,  that  will  teach  you  ! ” As 
the  songs  and  blasphemy  grew  louder,  the  man  who 
seemed  the  captain  of  the  escort  cracked  his  whip ; 
and  at  this  signal  a blind,  indiscriminate  bastinado 
fell  with  the  sound  of  hail  upon  the  seven  cart-loads. 
Many  yelled  and  foamed  at  the  lips,  which  redoubled 
the  joy  of  the  gamins  who  had  come  up  like  a cloud 
of  flies  settling  upon  wounds.  Jean  Valjean’s  eye 
had  become  frightful;  it  was  no  longer  an  eyeball, 
but  that  profound  glass  bulb  which  takes  the  place 
of  the  eye  in  some  unfortunate  men,  which  seems 
unconscious  of  reality,  and  in  which  tlie  reflection  of 
horrors  and  catastrophes  flashes.  He  was  not  look- 
ing at  a spectacle,  but  going  through  a vision ; he  had 
to  rise,  fly,  escape,  but  could  not  move  his  foot.  At 


THE  CHAIX-GANG. 


137 


times  things  which  you  see  seize  you  and  root  you  in 
the  ground.  He  remained  petrified  and  stupid,  ask- 
ing himself  through  a confused  and  inexpressible 
agony  what  was  the  meaning  of  this  sepulchral  per- 
secution, and  whence  came  this  Pandemonium  that 
pursued  him.  All  at  once  he  raised  his  hand  to  his 
forehead,  — the  usual  gesture  of  those  to  whom  mem- 
ory suddenly  returns ; he  remembered  that  this  was 
substantially  the  road,  that  this  detour  was  usual  to 
avoid  any  meeting  with  royalty,  — which  was  always 
possible  on  the  Fontaineblean  road,  — and  that  five- 
and-thirty  years  before  he  had  passed  through  that 
barrihre.  Cosette  was  not  the  less  horrified,  though 
in  a different  way ; she  did  not  understand,  her  breath 
failed  her,  and  what  she  saw  did  not  appear  to  her 
possible.  At  length  she  exclaimed,  — 

“ Father  ! what  is  there  in  those  vehicles  ? ” 

Jean  Valjean  answered, — 

“ Comficts.” 

“ Where  are  they  going  ? ” 

“ To  the  galleys.” 

At  this  moment  the  bastinado,  multiplied  by  a 
hundred  hands,  became  tremendous  ; strokes  of  the 
flat  of  the  sabre  were  mingled  with  it,  and  it  resem- 
bled a tornado  of  whips  and  sticks.  The  galley- 
slaves  bowed  their  heads ; a hideous  obedience  was 
produced  by  the  punishment,  and  all  were  silent, 
with  the  looks  of  chained  wolves.  Cosette,  trem- 
bling in  all  her  limbs,  continued,  — 

“ Father,  are  they  stdl  men  ? ” 

“ Sometimes,”  the  miserable  man  replied. 

It  was,  in  fact,  the  Chain,  wliich,  leaving  Bicetre 


138 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


before  daybreak,  was  taking  the  Mans  road,  to  avoid 
Fontainebleau,  where  the  king  then  was.  This 
detour  made  the  fearful  journey  last  three  or  four 
days  longer  ; but  it  surely  may  be  prolonged  to  save 
a royal  personage  the  sight  of  a punishment ! Jean 
Valjean  went  home  crushed;  for  such  encounters  are 
blows,  and  the  recollections  they  leave  behind  re- 
semble a concussion.  While  walking  along  the  Rue 
de  Babylone,  Jean  Valjean  did  not  notice  that 
Cosette  asked'  him  other  questions  about  what  they 
had  just  seen  ; perhaps  he  was  himself  too  absorbed 
in  his  despondency  to  notice  her  remarks  and  answer 
them.  At  night,  however,  when  Cosette  left  him  to 
go  to  bed,  he  heard  her  say  in  a low  voice,  and  as 
if  speaking  to  herself : “ I feel  that  if  I were  to  meet 
one  of  those  men  in  the  street,  I should  die  only 
from  being  so  close  to  him.” 

Luckily,  the  next  day  after  this  tragic  interlude, 
there  were  festivals  in  Paris  on  account  of  some 
official  solemnity  which  I have  forgotten,  a review 
at  the  Champ  de  Mars,  a quintain  on  the  Seine, 
theatres  in  the  Champs  Elys^es,  fireworks  at  the 
Etoile,  and  illuminations  everywhere.  Jean  Valjean, 
breaking  through  his  habits,  took  Cosette  to  these 
rejoicings  in  order  to  make  her  forget  the  scene  of 
the  previous  day,  and  efface,  beneath  the  laughing 
tumult  of  all  Paris,  the  abominable  thing  which  had 
passed  before  her.  The  review,  which  seasoned  the 
fete,  rendered  uniforms  very  natural ; hence  Jean 
Valjean  put  on  his  National  Guard  coat,  with  the 
vague  inner  feeling  of  a man  who  is  seeking  a ref- 
uge. However,  the  object  of  this  jaunt  seemed  to 


THE  CHAIN-GAHG. 


139 


be  attained ; Cosette,  Avho  made  it  a law  to  please 
her  father,  and  to  whom  any  festival  was  a novelty, 
accepted  the  distraction  \nth  the  . easy  and  light 
good-will  of  adolescents,  and  did  not  make  too  dis- 
dainful a pout  at  the  porringer  of  joy  which  is  called 
a public  holiday.  Hence  Jean  Yaljeau  might  believe 
that  he  had  succeeded,  and  that  no  trace  of  the  hid- 
eous vision  remained.  A few  days  after,  one  morn- 
ing when  the  sun  was  shining,  and  both  were  on  the 
garden  steps,  — another  infraction  of  the  rides  which 
Jean  Yaljean  seemed  to  have  imposed  on  himself, 
and  that  habit  of  remaining  in  her  chamber  which 
sadness  had  caused  Cosette  to  assume,  — the  girl, 
wearing  a combing  jacket,  was  standing  in  that 
morning  neglige  which  adorably  envelops  maidens, 
and  looks  hke  a cloud  over  a star ; and  with  her  head 
in  the  light,  her  cheeks  pink  from  a good  night’s  rest, 
and  gazed  at  softly  by  the  old  man,  she  was  plucking 
the  petals  of  a daisy.  She  did  not  know  the  deli- 
cious legend  of,  “ I love  you,  a little,  passionately,” 
etc., —for  who  could  have  taught  it  to  her?  She 
handled  the  flower  instinctively  and  innocently,  with- 
out suspecting  that  plucking  a daisy  to  pieces  is  ques- 
tioning a heart.  If  there  were  a fourth  Grace  called 
INlelanchoIy,  she  had  the  air  of  that  Grace  when 
smiling.  Jean  Yaljean  was  fascinated  by  the  con- 
templation of  these  little  fingers  on  this  flower,  for- 
getting everything  in  the  radiance  which  surrounded 
the  child.  A red-breast  was  twittering  in  a bush 
hard  by;  and  while  clouds  crossed  the  sky  so  gayly 
that  you  might  have  said  that  they  had  just  been 
set  at  liberty,  Cosette  continued  to  pluck  her  flower 


140 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


attentively.  She  seemed  to  be  thinking  of  something, 
but  that  something  must  be  charming.  All  at  once 
she  turned  her  head  on  her  shoulder,  with  the  delicate 
slowness  of  a swan,  and  said  to  Jean  Valjeau,  “ Tell 
me,  father,  what  the  galleys  are.” 


BOOK  IV. 


SUCCOR  FROM  BELOW  MAY  BE  SUCCOR 
FROM  ON  HIGH. 


CHAPTER  I. 

AH’  EXTERNAL  WOUXD  AND  AN  INTERNAL  CURE. 

Their  life  thus  gradually  became  overcast ; only 
one  amusement  was  left  them  which  had  fonnerly 
been  a happiness,  and  that  was  to  carry  bread  to 
those  who  were  starving,  and  clothes  to  those  who 
were  cold.  In  these  visits  to  the  poor,  in  which 
Cosette  frequently  accompanied  Jean  Valjean,  they 
found  again  some  portion  of  their  old  expansiveness  ; 
and  at  times,  when  the  day  had  been  good,  when  a 
good  deal  of  distress  had  been  relieved,  and  many 
children  warmed  and  re-animated,  Cosette  displayed 
a little  gayety  at  night.  It  was  at  this  period  that 
they  paid  the  visit  to  Jondrette’s  den.  The  day 
after  that  visit,  Jean  Valjean  appeared  at  an  early 
hour  in  the  pavilion,  calm  as  usual,  but  with  a large 
wound  in  his  left  arm,  which  was  very  inflamed  and 
venomous,  which  resembled  a burn,  and  which  he  ac- 
counted for  in  some  way  or  other.  This  wound  kept 
him  at  home  with  a fever  for  more  than  a month, 


142 


THE  EUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


for  he  would  not  see  any  medical  man,  and  when 
Cosette  pressed  him,  he  said,  “ Call  in  the  dog- 
doctor.”  Cosette  dressed  his  wound  morning  and 
night  with  an  air  of  such  divine  and  angelic  happi- 
ness at  being  useful  to  him,  that  Jean  Valjean  felt 
all  his  old  joy  return,  his  fears  and  anxieties  dissi- 
pated ; and  he  gazed  at  Cosette,  saying,  “ Oh,  the 
excellent  wound  ! the  good  hurt ! ” 

Cosette,  seeing  her  father  ill,  had  deserted  the 
pavilion,  and  regained  her  taste  for  the  little  out- 
house and  the  back  court.  She  spent  nearly  the 
whole  day  by  the  side  of  Jean  Valjean,  and  read  to 
him  any  books  he  chose,  which  were  generally  trav- 
els. Jean  Valjean  was  regenerated.  His  happiness 
returned  Avith  ineffable  radiance  ; the  Luxembourg, 
the  young  unknown  prowler,  Cosette’s  coldness, — all 
these  soul-clouds  disappeared,  and  he  found  himself 
saying,  “ I imagined  all  that ; I am  an  old  fool ! ” 
His  happiness  was  such  that  the  frightful  discovery  of 
the  Thdnardiers  made  iu  Jondrette’s  den,  which  was 
so  unexpected,  had  to  some  extent  glided  over  him. 
He  had  succeeded  in  escaping,  his  trail  was  lost,  and 
what  did  he  care  for  the  rest  ? He  only  thought 
of  it  to  pity  those  wretches.  They  were  iu  prison, 
and  henceforth  incapable  of  mischief,  he  thought, 
but  what  a lamentable  family  in  distress ! ^-i^s  for 
the  hideous  vision  of  the  Barrifere  du  Maine,  Cosette 
had  not  spoken  again  about  it.  In  the  convent. 
Sister  Sainte  IMechtilde  had  taught  Cosette  music ; 
she  had  a voice  such  as  a linnet  would  have  if  it  pos- 
sessed a soul ; and  at  times  she  sang  sad  songs  in  the 
wounded  man’s  obscure  room,  which  enlivened  Jean 


AX  EXTERNAL  WOUND  AND  INTERNAL  CURE.  143 

Valjeap.  ^ Spring  arrived,  anfl  the  garden  was  so  de- 
licious at  that  season  of  the  year,  that  Jean  Valjean 
said  to  Cosette,  “ You  never  go  out,  and  I vdsh  you 
to  take  a stroll.”  “ As  you  please,  father,”  said 
Cosette.  And  to  obey  her  father,  she  resumed  her 
walks  in  the  garden,  generally  alone,  for,  as  we  have 
mentioned,  Jean  Valjean,  who  was  probably  afraid  of 
being  seen  from  the  gate,  hardly  ever  entered  it. 

Jean  Valjean’s  wound  had  been  a diversion  ; when 
Cosette  saw  that  her  father  suffered  less,  and  was 
recovering  and  seemed  happy,  she  felt  a satisfaction 
which  she  did  not  even  notice,  for  it  came  so  softly 
and  naturally.  Then,  too,  it  was  the  month  of 
March  ; the  days  were  drawing  out,  winter  was  de- 
parting, and  it  always  takes  with  it  some  portion  of 
our  sorrow  ; then  came  April,  that  daybreak  of  sum- 
mer, fresh  as  every  dawn,  and  gay  like  all  childhoods, 
and  somewhat  tearful  at  times  like  the  new-born  babe 
it  is.  Nature  in  that  month  has  charming  beams 
which  pass  from  the  sky,  the  clouds,  tlie  trees,  the 
fields,  and  the  flowers  into  the  human  heart.  Co- 
sette was  still  too  young  for  this  April  joy,  which  re- 
sembled her,  not  to  penetrate  her;  insensibly,  and 
without  suspecting  it,  the  dark  cloud  departed  from 
her  mind.  In  spring  there  is  light  in  sad  souls,  as 
there  is  at  midday  in  cellars.  | Cosette  was  no  longer 
so  very  sad  ; it  was  so,  but  she  did  not  attempt  to 
account  for  it.  In  the  morning,  after  breakfast, 
when  she  succeeded  in  drawdng  her  father  into  the 
garden  for  a quarter  of  an  hour,  and  walked  him 
up  and  down  while  supporting  his  bad  arm,  she 
did  not  notice  that  she  laughed  every  moment  and 


144 


THE  EUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


was  happy.  Jean  Valj(*an  was  delighted  to  see  her 
become  ruddy-cheeked  and  fresh  once  more. 

“ Oh,  the  famous  wound  ! ” he  repeated  to  him- 
self, in  a low  voice. 

And  he  was  grateful  to  the  Th^nardiers.  So  soon 
as  his  wonnd  was  cured  he  recommenced  his  solitary 
night-rambles  ;^nd  it  would  be  a mistake  to  sup- 
pose that  a man  can  walk  about  alone  in  the  unin- 
habited regions  of  Paris  without  meeting  mth  some 
adventure.  ^ 


CHAPTER  II. 


MOTHER  PLUTARCH  ACCOUNTS  FOR  A PHENOMENON. 

One  evening  little  Gavroclie  had  eaten  nothing ; 
he  remembered  that  he  had  not  dined  either  on  the 
preGous  day,  and  that  was  becoming  ridiculous ; so 
he  formed  the  resolution  to  try  and  sup.  He  went 
prowling  about  at  the  deserted  spots  beyond  the 
Salpetriere,  for  there  are  good  windfalls  there  ; where 
there  is  nobody,  something  may  be  found.  He  thus 
reached  a suburb  which  seemed  to  him  to  be  the 
rtllage  of  Austerlitz.  In  one  of  his  previous  strolls 
he  had  noticed  tliere  an  old  garden  frequented  by  an 
old  man  and  an  old  woman,  and  in  this  garden  a 
passable  apple-tree.  By  the  side  of  this  tree  was  a 
sort  of  badly  closed  fruibloft,  whence  an  apple  might 
be  obtained.  An  apple  is  a supper, -an  apple  is  life ; 
and  what  ruined  Adam  might  save  Gavroche.  The 
garden  skirted  a solitary  uupaved  lane,  bordered  by 
shrubs  while  waiting  for  houses,  and  a hedge  sepa- 
rated it  from  the  lane.  Gavroche  proceeded  to  the 
garden.  He  found  the  lane  again,  he  recognized  the 
apple-tree,  and  examined  the  hedge ; a hedge  is  but 
a stride.  Day  was  declining  ; there  was  not  a cat  in 
the  lane,  and  the  hour  was  good.  Ga\Toche  was 
preparing  to  clamber  over  the  hedge,  when  he  stopped 

VOL.  IV.  10 


146 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


short,  — some  people  were  talking  in  the  garden. 
Gavroche  looked  through  one  of  the  interstices  in  the 
hedge.  Two  paces  from  him,  at  the  foot  of  the  hedge 
on  the  other  side,  at  precisely  the  point  where  the 
hole  he  had  intended  to  make  would  have  opened, 
lay  a stone  which  formed  a species  of  bench  ; and  on 
this  bench  the  old  man  of  the  garden  was  seated 
with  the  old  woman  standing  in  front  of  him.  The 
old  woman  was  grumbling,  and  Gavroche,  who  was 
not  troubled  with  too  much  discretion,  listened. 

“ INIonsieur  Maboeuf ! ” the  old  woman  said. 

“ Maboeuf ! ” Gavroche  thought,  “ that ’s  a rum 
name.” 

The  old  man  thus  addressed  did  uot  stir,  and  the 
old  woman  repeated,  — 

“ Monsieur  Maboeuf ! ” 

The  old  man,  without  taking  his  eyes  off  the  ground, 
decided  to  answer,  — 

“ Well,  Mother  Plutarch  ! ” 

“ Mother  Plutarch  ! ” Gavroche  thought,  “ that ’s 
another  rum  name.” 

hlother  Plutarch  continued,  and  the  old  gentleman 
was  compelled  to  submit  to  the  conversation, 

“ The  landlord  is  not  satisfied.” 

“ Why  so  ? ” 

“ There  are  three  quarters  owing.” 

“ In  three  months  more  we  shall  owe  four.” 

“ He  says  that  he  will  turn  you  out.” 

“ I will  go.” 

“ The  green-grocer  wants  to  be  paid,  or  she  will 
supply  no  more  fagots.  How  shall  we  warm  our- 
selves this  winter  if  we  have  no  wood  ? ” 


ACCOUNTS  FOR  A PHENOMENON. 


147 


“ There  is  the  sun.” 

“ The  butcher  has  stopped  our  credit,  and  will  not 
supply  any  more  meat.” 

“ That  is  lucky,  for  I cannot  digest  meat ; it  is 
hea\")".” 

“ But  what  shall  we  have  for  dinner  ? ” 

“ Bread.” 

“ The  baker  insists  on  receiving  something  on 
account ; no  money,  no  bread,  he  says.” 

“ Very  good.” 

“ What  will  you  eat  ? ” 

“ We  have  apples.” 

“ But,  really,  sir,  we  cannot  live  in  that  way  with- 
out money.” 

“ I have  none.” 

The  old  woman  went  away,  and  left  the  old  gen- 
tleman alone.  He  began  thinking,  and  Gavroche 
thought  too ; it  was  almost  night.  The  first  result 
of  Gavroche’s  reflection  was,  that  instead  of  climbing 
over  the  hedge,  he  lay  down  under  it.  The  branches 
parted  a little  at  the  bottom.  “ Hilloh,”  said  Gav- 
roche to  himself,  “ it ’s  an  alcove,”  and  he  crept  into 
it.  His  back  was  almost  against  the  octogenarian’s 
bench,  and  he  could  hear  him  breathe.  Then,  in  lieu 
of  dining,  Gavroche  tried  to  sleep,  but  it  was  the 
sleep  of  cat,  with  one  eye  open.  While  dozing, 
Gavroche  watched.  The  whiteness  of  the  twilight 
sky  lit  up  the  ground,  and  the  lane  formed  a livid 
line  between  two  rows  of  dark  streets.  All  at  once 
two  figures  appeared  on  this  white  stripe  ; one  was  in 
front  and  the  other  a little  distance  behind. 

“ Here  are  two  coves,”  Gavroche  growled. 


148 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


The  first  figure  seemed  to  be  some  old  bowed  citi- 
zen, more  than  simply  attired,  who  walked  slowly,  ow- 
ing to  his  age,  and  was  strolling  about  in  the  starlight. 
The  second  was  straight,  firm,  and  slim.  He  regu- 
lated his  steps  by  those  of  the  man  in  front ; but 
suppleness  and  agility  could  be  detected  in  his  volun- 
tary slowness.  This  figure  had  something  ferocious 
and  alarming  about  it,  and  the  appearance  of  what 
was  called  a dandy  in  those  days  ; the  hat  was  of  a 
good  shape,  and  the  coat  was  black,  well  cut,  proba- 
bly of  fine  cloth,  and  tight  at  the  waist.  He  held  his 
head  up  with  a sort  of  robust  grace ; and  under  the 
hat  a glimpse  could  be  caught  of  a pale  youthful  profile 
in  the  twilight.  This  profile  had  a rose  in  its  mouth, 
and  was  familiar  to  Gavroche,  for  it  was  iSIontpar- 
nasse  ; as  for  the  other,  there  was  nothing  to  be  said 
save  that  he  was  a respectable  old  man.  Gavroche 
at  once  began  observing,  for  it  was  eHdent  that  one 
of  these  men  had  projects  upon  the  other.  Gavroche 
was  well  situated  to  see  the  finale ; and  the  alcove 
had  opportunely  become  a hiding-place.  IVIontpar- 
nasse,  hunting  at  such  an  hour  in  such  a spot,  — that 
was  menacing.  Gavi’oche  felt  his  gamin  entrails 
moved  'with  pity  for  the  old  gentleman.  What 
should  he  do,  — interfere  ? One  weakness  helping 
another ! Montparnasse  would  have  laughed  at  it ; 
for  Gavroche  did  not  conceal  from  himself  that  the 
old  man  first,  and  then  the  boy,  would  be  only  two 
mouthfuls  for  this  formidable  bandit  of  eighteen. 
While  Gavroche  was  deliberating,  the  attack  — a sud- 
den and  hideous  attack  — took  place  ; it  was  the 
attack  of  a tiger  on  an  onager,  of  a spider  on  a fly. 


ACCOUNTS  FOR  A PHENOMENON. 


149 


iSIontparnasse  threw  away  the  rose,  leaped  upon  tlie 
old  man,  grappled  him  and  clung  to  him ; and  Gav- 
roche  had  difficulty  in  repressing  a cry.  A moment 
after,  one  of  these  men  was  beneath  the  other,  crushed, 
gasping,  and  struggling  with  a knee  of  marble  on  his 
chest.  But  it  was  not  exactly  what  Gavroche  had 
anticipated;  the  man  on  the  ground  was  IMontpar- 
nasse,  the  one  at  the  top  the  citizen.  All  this  took 
place  a few  yards  from  Gavroche.  The  old  man 
received  the  shock,  and  repaid  it  so  terribly  that  in 
an  instant  the  assailant  and  the  assailed  changed 
parts. 

“ That ’s  a tough  invalid,”  Gavroche  thought.  And 
he  could  not  refrain  from  clapping  his  hands,  but  it 
was  thrown  away  ; it  was  not  heard  by  the  two  com- 
batants, who  deafened  one  another,  and  mingled 
their  breath  in  the  struggle.  At  length  there  was 
a silence,  and  Montparnasse  ceased  writhing.  Gav- 
roehe  muttered  this  aside,  “ Is  he  dead  ? ” The 
worthy  man  had  not  uttered  a word  or  given  a cry  ; 
he  rose,  and  Gavroche  heard  him  say  to  Montparnasse, 
“ Get  up.” 

Montparnasse  did  so,  but  the  citizen  still  held 
him.  Montparnasse  had  the  humiliated  and  furious 
attitude  of  a wolf  snapped  at  by  a sheep.  Gavroche 
looked  and  listened,  making  an  effort  to  double  his 
eyes  with  his  ears  ; he  was  enormously  amused.  He 
was  rewarded  for  his  conscientious  anxiety,  for  he 
Avas  able  to  catch  the  following  dialogue,  which 
borroAved  fr’om  the  darkness  a sort  of  tragic  ac- 
cent. The  gentleman  questioned,  and  Montparnasse 
ansAvered,  — 


150 


THE  EUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


“ What  is  your  age  ? ” 

“ Nineteen.” 

“ You  are  strong  and  healthy,  why  do  you  not 
work  ? ” 

“ It  is  a bore.” 

“ What  is  your  trade  ? ” 

“ Idler.” 

“ Speak  seriously.  Can  anything  be  done  for  you  ? 
What  do  you  wish  to  be  ? ” 

“ A robber.” 

There  was  a silence,  and  the  old  gentleman  seemed 
in  profound  thought ; but  he  did  not  loose  his  hold 
of  Montparnasse.  Every  now  and  tlien  the  young 
bandit,  who  Avas  vigorous  and  active,  gave  starts 
like  a wild  beast  eaught  in  a snare ; he  shook  him- 
self, attempted  a trip,  Avildly  wu’ithed  his  limbs,  and 
tried  to  escape.  The  old  gentleman  did  not  appear 
to  notice  it,  and  held  the  ruffian’s  two  arms  in  one 
hand  with  the  sovereign  indifference  of  absolute 
strength.  The  old  man’s  reverie  lasted  some  time  ; 
then,  gazing  fixedly  at  Montparnasse,  he  mildly  raised 
his  voice  and  addressed  to  him,  in  the  darkness  where 
they  stood,  a sort  of  solemn  appeal,  of  which  Gav- 
roche  did  not  lose  a syllable. 

“ My  boy,  you  are  entering  by  sloth  into  the  most 
laborious  of  existences.  Ah  ! you  declare  yourself 
an  idler,  then  prepare  yourself  for  laboi’.  Have  you 
ever  seen  a formidable  machine  Avhich  is  called  a 
rolling-mill  ? You  must  be  on  your  guard  against 
it ; for  it  is  a crafty  and  ferocious  thing,  and  if  it 
catch  you  by  the  skirt  of  the  coat  it  drags  you  under 
it  entirely.  Such  a machiue  is  indolence.  Stop 


ACCOUNTS  FOE  A PHENOMENON. 


151 


while  there  is  yet  time,  and  save  yourself,  otherwise 
it  is  all  over  with  you,  and  ere  long  you  will  be 
among  the  cog-wheels.  Once  caught,  hope  for  noth- 
ing more.  You  will  be  forced  to  fatigue  yourself, 
idler ; and  no  rest  will  be  allowed  you,  for  the  iron 
hand  of  implacable  toil  has  seized  you.  You  refuse 
to  earn  your  livelihood,  have  a calling,  and  accomplish 
a duty.  It  bores  you  to  be  like  the  rest ; well,  you 
will  be  different.  Labor  is  the  law,  and  whoever 
repulses  it  as  a bore  must  have  it  as  a punishment. 
You  do  not  wish  to  be  a laborer,  and  you  vdll  be 
a slave.  Toil  only  lets  you  loose  on  one  side  to  seize 
you  again  on  the  other ; you  do  not  tvish  to  be  its 
friend,  and  you  will  be  its  negro.  Ah,  you  did  not 
care  for  the  honest  fatigue  of  men,  and  you  are 
about  to  know  the  sweat  of  the  damned ; while 
others  sing  you  wdll  groan.  You  will  see  other  men 
working  in  the  distance,  and  they  will  seem  to  you 
to  be  resting.  The  laborer,  the  reaper,  the  sailor, 
the  blacksmith,  will  appear  to  you  in  the  light  like 
the  blessed  inmates  of  a paradise.  What  a radiance 
there  is  in  the  anvil  ! What  joy  it  is  to  guide  the 
plough,  and  tie  up  the  sheaf ! What  a holiday  to  fly 
before  the  wind  in  a boat ! But  you,  idler,  will 
have  to  dig  and  drag,  and  roll  and  walk.  Pull  at 
your  halter,  for  you  are  a beast  of  burden  in  the 
service  of  hell ! So  your  desire  is  to  do  nothing  ? 
Well,  you  will  not  have  a week,  a day,  an  hour 
without  feeling  crushed.  You  will  not  be  able  to 
lift  anytliing  vdthout  agony,  and  every  passing  minute 
will  make  your  muscles  crack.  YTrat  is  a feather  for 
others  ■will  be  a rock  for  you,  and  the  most  simple 


152 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


things  will  become  steep.  Life  will  become  a mon- 
ster around  you,  and  coming,'  going,  breathing,  will 
be  so  many  terrible  tasks  for  you.  Your  lungs  will 
produce  in  you  the  effect  of  a hundred-pound  weight ; 
and  going  there  sooner  than  here  will  be  a problem 
to  solve.  Any  man  who  wishes  to  go  out,  merely 
opens  his  door  and  finds  himself  in  the  street ; but 
if  you  wish  to  go  out  you  must  pierce  through  your 
wall.  What  do  honest  men  do  to  reach  the  street  ? 
They  go  downstairs ; but  you  will  tear  up  your 
sheets,  make  a cord  of  them  fibre  by  fibre,  then  pass 
through  your  window  and  hang  by  this  thread  over 
an  abyss.  And  it  will  take  place  at  night,  in  the 
storm,  the  rain,  or  the  hurricane ; and  if  the  cord 
be  too  short  you  will  have  but  one  way  of  descend- 
ing, by  falling  — falling  haphazard  into  the  gulf,  and 
from  any  height,  and  on  what  ? On  some  unknown 
thing  beneath.  Or  you  will  climb  up  a chimney 
at  the  risk  of  burning  yourself ; or  crawl  through 
a sewer  at  the  risk  of  drowning.  I will  say  nothing 
of  the  holes  which  must  be  masked  ; of  the  stones 
which  you  will  have  to  remove  and  put  back  twenty 
times  a day,  or  of  the  plaster  you  must  hide  under 
your  mattress.  A lock  presents  itself,  and  the  citi- 
zen has  in  his  pocket  the  key  for  it,  made  by  the 
locksmith  ; but  you,  if  you  wish  to  go  out,  are  con- 
demned to  make  a terrible  masterpiece.  Y’ou  will 
take  a double  sou  and  cut  it  asunder.  With  what 
tools  ? T'ou  will  invent  them  ; that  is  your  busi- 
ness. Then  you  will  hollow  out  the  interior  of  the 
two  parts,  being  careful  not  to  injure  the  outside, 
and  form  a thread  all  round  the  edge,  so  that  the 


ACCOUNTS  FOR  A PHENOMENON. 


153 


two  parts  may  fit  closely  like  a box  and  its  cover. 
"Wheu  they  are  screwed  together  there  will  be  noth- 
ing suspicious  to  the  watchers,  — for  you  will  be 
watched.  It  udll  be  a double  sou,  but  for  yourself 
a box.  Wdiat  will  you  place  in  this  box  ? A small 
piece  of  steel,  a watch-spring  in  which  you  have 
made  teeth,  and  which  will  be  a saw.  With  this 
saw,  about  the  length  of  a pin,  you  will  be  obliged 
to  cut  through  the  bolt  of  the  lock,  the  padlock  of 
your  chain,  the  bar  at  your  window,  and  the  fetter 
on  your  leg.  This  masterpiece  done,  this  prodigy 
accomplished,  all  the  miracles  of  art,  skill,  clever- 
ness, and  patience  executed,  what  will  be  your  re- 
ward if  you  are  detected  ? A dungeon.  Such  is 
the  future.  ' What  precipices  are  sloth  and  pleasure  ! 
To  do  nothing  is  a melancholy  resolution,  are  you 
aware  of  that  ? To  live  in  indolence  on  the  social 
substance  ; to  be  useless,  that  is  to  say,  injurious,  — 
this  leads  straight  to  the  bottom  of  misery.  AYoe 
to  the  man  who  wishes  to  be  a parasite,  for  he  will 
be  vermin  ! Ah  ! it  does  not  please  you  to  work. 
Ah  ! you  have  only  one  thought,  to  drink  well,  eat 
well,  and  sleep  well.  You  will  drink  water ; you 
Avill  eat  black  bread  ; you  will  sleep  on  a plank,  with 
fetters  riveted  to  your  limbs,  and  feel  their  coldness 
at  night  in  your  flesh  ! You  vdll  break  these  fetters 
and  fly  ; very  good.  You  will  drag  yourself  ou  your 
stomach  into  the  shrubs  and  eat  grass  like  the  beasts 
of  the  field ; and  you  will  be  re-captured,  and  then 
you  will  pass  years  in  a dungeon,  chained  to  the 
wall,  groping  in  the  dark  for  your  water-jug,  biting 
at  frightful  black  bread  which  dogs  'would  refuse, 


154 


THE  EUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


and  eating  beans  which  maggots  have  eaten  before 
you.  You  will  be  a wood-louse  in  a cellar.  Ah, 
ah  ! take  pity  on  yourself,  wretched  boy,  still  so 
young,  Avho  were  at  your  nurse’s  breast  not  twenty 
years  ago,  and  have  doubtless  a mother  still ! I 
implore  you  to  listen  to  me.  You  want  fine  black 
cloth,  polished  shoes,  to  scent  your  head  with  fra- 
grant oil,  to  please  bad  women,  and  be  a pretty  fellow  ; 
you  will  have  your  hair  close  shaven,  and  wear  a red 
jacket  and  wooden  shoes.  You  want  a ring  on  your 
finger  ; and  will  wear  a collar  on  your  neck,  and  if 
you  look  at  a woman  you  will  be  beaten.  And  you 
will  go  in  there  at  twenty  and  come  out  at  fifty  years 
of  age.  You  ■will  go  in  young,  red-cheeked,  healthy, 
with  yom’  sparkling  eyes  and  all  your  white  teeth, 
and  your  curly  locks  ; and  you  will  come  out  again 
broken,  bent,  wrinkled,  toothless,  horrible,  and  gray- 
headed ! Ah,  my  jDoor  boy,  you  are  on  the  wrong 
road,  and  indolence  is  a bad  adAuser ; for  robbery  is 
the  hardest  of  labors.  Take  my  ad\dce,  and  do  not 
undertake  the  laborious  task  of  being  an  idler.  To 
become  a rogue  is  inconvenient,  and  it  is  not  nearly 
so  hard  to  be  an  honest  man.  Yoav  go,  and  think 
over  Avhat  I have  said  to  you.  By  the  bye,  Avhat 
did  you  want  of  me  ? My  purse  ? Here  it  is.” 

And  the  old  man,  releasing  Montparnasse,  placed 
his  purse  in  his  hand,  Avhich  Montparnasse  weighed 
for  a moment ; after  which,  ■with  the  same  mechanical 
precaution  as  if  he  had  stolen  it,  Montparnasse  let 
it  glide  gently  into  the  back-pocket  of  his  coat.  All 
this  said  and  done,  the  old  gentleman  turned  his 
back  and  quietly  resumed  his  walk. 


ACCOUNTS  FOR  A PHENOMENON. 


155 


“ Old  humbug  ! ” IMontparnasse  muttered.  Who 
was  the  old  gentleman  ? The  reader  has  doubtless 
guessed.  IMontparnasse,  in  his  stupefaction,  watched 
him  till  he  disappeared  in  the  gloom,  and  this  con- 
templation was  fatal  for  him.  While  the  old  gen- 
tleman retired,  Gavroche  advanced.  He  had  assured 
himself  by  a glance  that  Father  Maboeuf  was  still 
seated  on  his  bench,  and  was  probably  asleep  ; then 
the  gamin  left  the  bushes,  and  began  crawling  in  the 
shadow  behind  the  motionless  Montparnasse.  He 
thus  got  up  to  the  young  bandit  unnoticed,  gently 
insinuated  his  hand  into  the  back-pocket  of  the  fine 
black  cloth  coat,  seized  the  purse,  withdrew  his  hand, 
and  crawled  back  again  into  the  shadow  like  a lizard. 
IMontparnasse,  who  had  no  reason  to  be  on  his  guard, 
and  who  was  thinking  for  the  first  time  in  his  life, 
perceived  nothing ; and  Ga^Toche,  when  he  had  re- 
turned to  the  spot  where  Father  Maboeuf  was  sitting, 
threw  the  purse  over  the  hedge  and  ran  off  at  full 
speed.  The  purse  fell  on  Father  Maboeuf’s  foot  and 
awoke  him.  He  stooped  down  and  picked  up  the 
purse,  which  he  opened  without  comprehending  any- 
thing. It  was  a purse,  with  two  compartments ; in 
one  was  some  change,  in  the  other  were  six  napo- 
leons. M.  IMaboeuf,  greatly  startled,  carried  the 
thing  to  his  housekeeper. 

“ It  has  fallen  from  heaven,”  said  Mother  Plutarch. 


BOOK  V. 


m WHICH  THE  END  DOES  NOT 
RESEMBLE  THE  BEGIXXIXG. 


CHAPTER  1. 

SOLITUDE  AND  THE  BAKRACKS  COMBINED. 

Cosette’s  sorrow,  so  poignant  and  so  sharp  four 
or  five  months  previously,  liad  "without  her  knowl- 
edge attained  the  convalescent  stage.  Nature, 
spring,  youth,  love  for  her  father,  the  gayety  of  the 
flowers  and  birds  filtered  gradually,  day  by  day  and 
drop  by  drop,  something  that  almost  resembled  obliv- 
ion into  her  virginal  and  young  soul.  Was  the  fire 
entirely  extinguished ; or  were  layers  of  ashes  merely 
formed  ? The  fact  is,  that  she  hardly  felt  now  the 
painful  and  burning  point.  One  day  she  suddenly 
thought  of  Marius  ; “ Why,”  she  said,  “ I had  almost 
forgotten  him.”  This  same  week  she  noticed,  while 
passing  the  garden  gate,  a very  handsome  officer  in 
the  Lancers,  mth  a wasp-like  waist,  a delightful  uni- 
form, the  cheeks  of  a girl,  a sabre  under  his  arm, 
waxed  mustaches,  and  lacquered  schapska.  In 
other  respects,  he  had  light  hair,  blue  eyes  flush 
mth  his  head,  a round,  vain,  insolent,  and  pretty 
fiice ; he  was  exactly  the  contrary  of  Marius.  He 


SOLITUDE  AND  THE  BARRACKS  COMBINED.  157 

had  a cigar  iu  his  mouth,  and  Cosette  supposed 
tliat  he  belonged  to  the  regiment  quartered  iu  the 
barracks  of  the  Rue  de  Babylone.  The  next  day 
she  saw  him  pass  again,  and  remarked  the  hour. 
From  this  moment  — was  it  an  accident  ? — she  saw 
him  pass  nearly  every  day.  The  officer’s  comrades 
perceived  that  there  was  in  this  badly  kept  gar- 
den, and  behind  this  poor,  old-fashioned  railing,  a 
very  pretty  creature  who  was  nearly  always  there 
when  the  handsome  lieutenant  passed,  who  is  no 
stranger  to  the  reader,  as  his  name  was  Theodule 
Gillenormand. 

“ Hilloh  ! ” they  said  to  him,  “ there ’s  a little  girl 
making  eyes  at  you,  just  look  at  her.” 

“ Have  I the  time,”  the  Lancer  replied,  “ to  look 
at  all  the  girls  who  look  at  me  ? ” 

It  was  at  this  identical  time  that  iMarius  was 
slowly  descending  to  the  abyss,  and  said,  “ If  I 
could  only  see  her  again  before  I die  ! ” If  his  wish 
had  been  realized,  if  he  had  at  that  moment  seen 
Cosette  looking  at  a Lancer,  he  would  have  been  un- 
able to  utter  a word,  but  expired  of  grief.  Whose 
fault  would  it  have  been  ? Nobody’s.  Marius  pos- 
sessed oue  of  those  temperaments  which  bury  them- 
selves in  chagrin  and  abide  in  it : Cosette  was  one 
of  those  who  plunge  into  it  and  again  emerge. 
Cosette,  however,  was  passing  through  that  dan- 
gerous moment, — the  fatal  phase  of  feminine  reverie 
left  to  itself,  in  which  the  heart  of  an  isolated 
maiden  resembles  those  \dne  tendrils  which  cling, 
according  to  chance,  to  the  capital  of  a marble 
column  or  to  the  sign-post  of  an  inn.  It  is  a rapid 


158 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


and  decisive  moment,  critical  for  every  orphan, 
whether  she  be  poor  or  rich  ; for  wealth  does  not 
prevent  a bad  choice,  and  misalliances  take  place  in 
very  high  society.  But  the  true  misalliance  is  that 
of  souls ; and  in  the  same  way  as  many  an  unknown 
young  man,  without  name,  birth,  or  fortune,  is  a 
marble  capital  supporting  a temple  of  grand  sen- 
timents and  grand  ideas,  so  a man  of  the  world, 
satisfied  and  opulent,  who  has  polished  boots  and 
varnished  words,  if  we  look  not  at  the  exterior  but 
at  the  interior,  — that  is  to  say,  what  is  reserved  for 
the  wife,  — is  nought  but  a stupid  log  obscurely 
haunted  by  violent,  unclean,  and  drunken  passions,  — 
the  inn  sign-post. 

What  was  there  in  Cosette’s  soul  ? Passion  calmed 
or  lulled  to  sleep,  love  in  a floating  state  ; something 
which  was  limpid  and  brilliant,  perturbed  at  a cer- 
tain depth,  and  sombre  lower  still.  The  image  of 
the  handsome  officer  was  reffected  on  the  surface, 
but  was  there  any  reminiscence  at  the  bottom, 
quite  at  the  bottom  ? Perhaps  so,  but  Cosette  did 
not  know. 

A singular  incident  occurred. 


CHAPTER  II. 


cosette’s  feaes. 

In  the  first  fortnight  of  April  Jean  Valjean  went 
on  a journey ; this,  as  we  know,  occurred  from  time 
to  time  at  very  lengthened  intervals,  and  he  remained 
away  one  or  two  days  at  the  most.  .Where  did  he 
go?  Xo  one  knew,  not  even  Cosette  ; once  only  she 
had  accompanied  him  in  a hackney  coach,  upon  the 
occasion  of  one  of  these  absences,  to  the  corner  of  a 
little  lane  which  was  called,  “ Impasse  de  la  Plan- 
chette.”  He  got  out  there,  and  the  coach  carried 
Cosette  back  to  the  Rue  de  Babylon e.  It  was  gen- 
erally when  money  ran  short  in  the  house  that  Jean 
Valjean  took  these  trips.  Jean  Valjean,  then,  was 
absent ; and  he  had  said,  “ I shall  be  back  in  three 
days.”  At  night  Cosette  was  alone  in  the  drawing- 
room, and  in  order  to  while  away  the  time,  she 
opened  her  piano  and  began  singing  to  her  own 
accompaniment  the  song  of  Euryanthe,  “ Hunters 
wandering  in  the  wood,”  which  is  probably  the  finest 
thing  we  possess  in  the  shape  of  music.  When  she 
had  finished  she  remained  passive.  Suddenly  she 
fancied  she  heard  some  one  walking  in  the  garden. 
It  could  not  be  her  father,  for  he  was  away ; and  it 
could  not  be  Touissant,  as  she  was  in  bed,  for  it  was 


160 


THE  RUE  PLUxMET  IDYLL. 


ten  o’clock  at  night,  Cosette  was  near  the  drawing- 
room shutters,  which  were  closed,  and  put  her  ear 
to  them ; and  it  seemed  to  her  that  it  was  the  foot- 
fall of  a man  who  was  walking  very  gently.  She 
hurried  up  to  her  room  on  the  first  floor,  opened  a 
Venetian  frame  in  her  shutter,  and  looked  out  into 
the  garden.  The  moon  was  shining  bright  as  day, 
and  there  was  nobody  in  it.  She  opened  her  win- 
dow ; the  garden  was  perfectly  calm,  and  all  that 
could  be  seen  of  the  street  was  as  deserted  as  usual. 

Cosette  thought  that  she  was  mistaken,  and  she 
had  supposed  that  she  heard  the  noise.  It  was  an 
hallucination  produced  by  Weber’s  gloomy  and  won- 
derful chorus,  which  opens  before  the  mind  bewil- 
dering depths ; which  trembles  before  the  eye  like  a 
dizzy  forest  in  which  we  hear  the  cracking  of  the 
dead  branches  under  the  restless  feet  of  the  hunters, 
of  whom  we  catch  a glimpse  in  the  obscurity.  She 
thought  no  more  of  it.  Moreover,  Cosette  was  not 
naturally  very  timid : she  had  in  her  veins  some  of 
the  blood  of  the  gypsy,  and  the  adventurer  who  goes 
about  barefooted.  As  we  may  remember,  she  was 
rather  a lark  than  a dove,  and  she  had  a stem  and 
brave  temper. 

The  next  evening,  at  nightfall,  she  was  walking  about 
the  garden.  In  the  midst  of  the  confused  thoughts 
which  occupied  her  mind,  she  fancied  she  could  dis- 
tinguish now  and  then  a noise  like  that  of  the  pre- 
vious night,  as  if  some  one  were  walking  in  the  gloom 
under  the  trees  not  far  from  her ; but  she  said  to  her- 
self that  nothing  so  resembles  the  sound  of  a foot- 
fall on  grass  as  the  grating  of  two  branches  together, 


COSETTE’S  EEAES. 


161 


and  she  took  no  heed  of  it,  — besides,  she  saw  noth- 
ing. She  left  the  “ thicket,”  and  had  a small  grass- 
plat  to  cross  ere  she  reached  the  house.  The  moon, 
which  had  just  risen  behind  her,  projected  Cosette’s 
shadow,  as  she  left  the  clump  of  bushes,  upon  the 
grass  in  front  of  her,  and  she  stopped  in  terror. 
By  the  side  of  her  shadow  the  moon  distinctly  traced 
on  the  grass  another  singularly  startling  and  terrible 
shadow,  — a shadow  with  a hat  ou  its  head.  It  was 
like  the  shadow  of  a man  standing  at  the  edge  of  the 
clump  a few  paces  behind  Cosette.  For  a moment 
she  was  unable  to  speak  or  cry,  or  call  out,  or  stir, 
or  turn  her  head ; but  at  last  she  collected  all  her 
courage  and  boldly  turned  round.  There  was  nobody; 
she  looked  on  the  ground  and  the  shadow  had  dis- 
appeared. She  went  back  into  the  shrubs,  bravely 
searched  in  every  corner,  went  as  far  as  the  railings, 
and  discovered  nothing.  She  felt  really  chilled.  Was 
it  again  an  hallucination  ? What ! two  days  in  suc- 
cession ? One  hallucination  might  pass,  but  two ! 
The  alarming  point  was,  that  the  shadow  was  most 
certainly  not  a ghost,  for  ghosts  never  wear  round 
hats. 

The  next  day  Jean  Valjean  returned,  and  Cosette 
told  him  what  she  fancied  she  had  seen  and  heard. 
She  expected  to  be  reassured,  and  that  her  father 
would  shrug  his  shoulders  and  say,  “ You  are  a little 
goose  ; ” but  Jean  Valjean  became  anxious. 

“ Perhaps  it  is  nothing,”  he  said  to  her.  He  left 
her  with  some  excuse,  and  went  into  the  garden, 
where  she  saw  him  examine  the  railings  with  con- 
siderable attention.  In  the  night  she  woke  up.  This 

VOL.  IV.  1 1 


162 


THE  HUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


time  she  was  certain,  and  she  distinctly  heard  some 
one  walking  just  under  her  windows.  She  walked 
to  her  shutter  and  opened  it.  There  was  in  the  gar- 
den really  a man  holding  a large  stick  in  his  hand. 
At  the  moment  when  she  was  going  to  cry  out,  the 
moon  lit  up  the  man’s  face,  — it  was  her  father.  She 
went  to  bed  again  saying,  “ He  seems  really  very 
anxious ! ” Jean  Valjean  passed  that  and  the  two 
following  nights  in  the  garden,  and  Cosette  saw  him 
throngh  the  hole  in  her  shutter.  On  the  third  night 
the  moon  was  beginning  to  rise  later,  and  it  might 
have  been  about  one  in  the  morning  when  she  heard 
a hearty  burst  of  laughter,  and  her  father’s  voice 
calling  her : — 

“ Cosette  ! ” 

She  leaped  out  of  bed,  put  on  her  dressing-gown, 
and  opened  her  window ; her  father  was  standing  on 
the  grass-plat  below. 

“ I have  woke  you  up  to  reassure  you,”  he  said ; 
“ look  at  this,  — here ’s  your  shadow  iu  the  round 
hat.” 

And  he  showed  her  on  the  grass  a shadow  which 
the  moon  designed,  and  which  really  looked  rather 
like  the  spectre  of  a man  wearing  a round  hat.  It 
was  an  outline  produced  by  a zinc  chimney-pot  with 
a cowl,  which  rose  above  an  adjoining  roof.  Cosette 
also  began  laughing,  all  her  mournful  suppositions 
fell  away,  and  the  next  morning  at  breakfast  she 
jested  at  the  ill-omened  garden,  haunted  by  the 
ghost  of  chimney-pots.  Jean  Valjean  quite  regained 
his  ease  ; as  for  Cosette,  she  did  not  notice  particu- 
larly whether  the  chimney-pot  were  really  in  the 


COSETTE’S  FEARS. 


163 


direction  of  the  shadow  which  she  had  seen  or  fan- 
cied she  saw,  and  whether  the  moon  were  in  the 
same  part  of  the  heavens.  She  did  not  cross-ques- 
tion lierself  as  to  tlie  singularity  of  a chimney-pot 
Avhich  is  afraid  of  being  caught  in  the  act,  and  re- 
tires when  its  shadow  is  looked  at ; for  the  shadoAV 
chd  retire  Avhen  Cosette  turned  round,  and  she  fancied 
herself  quite  certain  of  that  fact.  Cosette  became 
quite  reassured,  for  the  demonstration  seemed  to  her 
perfect,  and  the  thought  left  her  brain  that  there 
could  have  been  any  one  walking  about  the  garden 
by  night.  A few  days  after,  however,  a fresh  inci- 
dent occurred. 


CHAPTER  III. 


ENRICHED  TTITH  THE  COMMENTS  OF  TOHSSAINT. 

In  the  garden,  near  the  railings  looking  out  on  the 
street,  tliere  was  a stone  bench,  protected  from  the 
gaze  of  passers-by  by  a hedge,  but  it  would  have 
been  an  easy  task  to  reach  it  by  thrusting  an  arm 
through  the  railings  and  the  hedge.  One  evening  in 
this  same  month  of  April,  Jean  Yaljean  had  gone 
out,  and  Cosette,  after  sunset,  was  seated  on  this 
bench.  The  wind  was  freshening  in  the  trees,{and 
Cosette  was  reflecting ; an  objectless  sorrow  was 
gradually  gaining  on  her,  the  invincible  sorrow  which 
night  produces,  and  which  comes  perhaps  — for  who 
knows  ? — from  the  mystery  of  the  tomb  which  is 
yawning  at  the  moment.  Possibly  Fautiue  was  in 
that  shadow^ 

Cosette  rose,  and  slowly  went  round  the  garden, 
walking  on  the  dew-laden  grass  [and  saying  to  her- 
self through  the  sort  of  melancholy  somnambulism 
in  wdiich  she  was  plunged  : “ I ought  to  have  wooden 
shoes  to  walk  in  the  garden  at  this  hour ; I shall 
catch  cold.jj  She  returned  to  the  bench;  but  at  the 
moment  when  she  was  going  to  sit  doum,  she  noticed 
at  the  place  she  had  left  a rather  large  stone,  which 
had  evidently  not  been  there  a moment  before. 


THE  COMMENTS  OF  TOUSSAINT, 


165 


Cosette  looked  at  the  stone,  asking  herself  what  it 
meant.  All  at  once  the  idea  that  the  stone  had  not 
reached  the  bench  of  itself,  that  some  one  had  placed 
it  there,  and  that  an  arm  had  been  passed  through 
Jie  grating,  occurred  to  her  and  friglitened  her. 
Lihis  time  it  was  a real  fear,  for  there  was  the  stone. 
No  doubt  was  possible.  She  did  not  touch  it,  but 
fled  without  daring  to  look  behind  besought  refuge 
in  the  house,  and  at  once  shuttered,  barred,  and 
bolted  the  French  window  opening  on  the  steps. 
Then  she  asked  Toussaint,  — 

/[Has  my  father  come  in  ? ” 

“No,  Miss.” 

(We  have  indicated  once  for  all  Toussaint’s  stam- 
mering, and  we  ask  leave  no  longer  to  accentuate  it, 
as  we  feel  a musical  notation  of  an  infirmity  to  be 
repulsive.) 

Jean  Yaljean,  a thoughtful  man,  and  stroller  by 
night,  often  did  not  return  till  a late  hour. 

“ Toussaint,”  Cosette  continued,  “ be  careful  to 
put  up  the  bars  to  the  shutters  looking  on  the  gar- 
den, and  to  place  the  little  iron  things  in  the  rings 
that  close  them.” 

“ Oh,  I am  sure  I will.  Miss.” 

Toussaint  did  not  fail,  and  Cosette  was  well  aware 
of  the  fact,  but  she  could  not  refrain  from  adding,  — 

“ For  it  is  so  desolate  here.” 

“Well,  that’s  true,”  said  Toussaint;  “we  might 
be  murdered  before  we  had  the  time  to  say,  Ouf ! 
and  then,  too,  master  does  not  sleep  in  the  house. 
But  don’t  be  frightened,  iSIiss.  I fasten  up  the  win- 
dows like  Bastilles.  Lone  women  ! I shoidd  think 


166 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


that  is  enough  to  make  a body  shudder.  Only  think ! 
to  see  men  coming  into  your  bedroom  and  hear 
them  say,  ^ Be  quiet,  you ! ’ and  then  they  begin  to 
cut  your  throat.  It  is  not  so  much  the  dying,  for 
everybody  dies,  and  we  know  that  we  must  do  so ; 
but  it  is  the  abomination  of  feeling  those  fellows 
touch  you  ; and  then  their  knives  are  not  sharp,  i)cr- 
haps  ; oh.  Lord  ! ” 

“ Hold  your  tongue,”  said  Cosette,  “ and  fasten  up 
everything  securely.” 

Cosette,  terrified  by  the  drama  improvised  by 
Toussaiut,  and  perhaps  too  by  the  apparitions  of  the 
last  week,  which  returned  to  her  mind,  did  not  even 
dare  to  say  to  her,  “Just  go  and  look  at  the  stone 
laid  on  the  bench ; ” for  fear  of  having  to  open  the 
garden  gate  again,  and  the  men  might  walk  ii^  She 
had  all  the  doors  and  windows  carefully  closed,  made 
Toussaint  examine  the  whole  house  from  cellar  to 
attic,  locked  herself  in  her  bedroom,  looked  under 
the  bed,  and  slept  badly.  The  whole  night  through, 
she  saw  the  stone  as  large  as  a mountain  and  full  of 
caverns.  At  sunrise  — the  peculiarity  of  sunrise  is 
to  make  us  laugh  at  all  our  terrors  of  the  night,  and 
our  laughter  is  always  proportioned  to  the  fear  we 
have  felt  — at  sunrise,  Cosette,  on  waking,  saw  her 
terror  like  a nightmare,  and  said  to  herself : “ What 
could  I be  thinking  about ! fit  was  like  the  steps 
wdiich  I fancied  I heard  last  week  in  the  garden 
at  night ! It  is  like  the  shadow  of  the  chimney- 
pot. Am  I going  to  turn  coward  now  ? ” The  sun, 
which  poured  through  the  crevices  of  her  shutters 
and  made  the  damask  curtains  one  mass  of  purple. 


THE  COMMENTS  OE  TOUSSAINT. 


16; 


re-assured  her  so  fully  that  all  faded  away  in  her 
mind,  even  to  the  stonej 

“ There  was  no  more  a stone  on  the  bench  than 
there  was  a man  in  a round  hat  in  the  garden.  I 
dreamed  of  the  stone  like  the  rest.” 

She  dressed  herself,  went  down  into  the  garden, 
and  felt  a cold  perspiration  all  over  her,  • — the  stone 
was  there.  But  this  only  lasted  for  a moment,  for 
what  is  terror  by  night  is  curiosity  by  day. 

“ Xonsense  ! ” she  said,  “ I ’ll  see.” 

She  raised  the  stone,  which  was  of  some  size,  and 
there  was  something  under  it  that  resembled  a letter; 
it  was  an  envelope  of  white  paper.  Cosette  seized 
it ; /There  was  no  address  on  it,  and  it  was  not  sealed 
up.  Still,  the  envelope,  though  open,  was  not  empty, 
for  papers  could  be  seen  inside.  Cosette  no  longer 
suffered  from  terror,  nor  was  it  curiosity ; it  was  a 
commencement  of  anxietyT]  Cosette  took  out  a small 
quire  of  paper,  each  page  of  which  was  numbered, 
and  bore  several  lines  'written  in  a very  nice  and 
delicate  hand,  so  Cosette  thought.  She  looked  for 
a name,  but  there  was  none;  for  a signature,  but 
there  was  none  either.  For  whom  was  the  packet 
intended  ? Probably  for  herself,  as  a hand  had  laid  it 
on  the  bench.  Q^rom  whom  did  it  come  ? An  irre- 
sistible  fascination  seized  upon  her  ; she  tried  to  turn 
her  eyes  away  from  these  pages,  which  trembled  in 
her  hand.  She  looked  at  the  sky,  the  street,  the 
acacias  all  bathed  in  light,  the  pigeons  circling  round 
an  adjoining  roof,  and  then  her  eye  settled  on  the 
manuscript,  and  she  said  to  herself  that  she  must 
know  what  was  inside  it.  This  is  what  she  read. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


A HEART  UNDER  A STONE. 

The  reduction  of  the  Universe  to  a single  being, 
the  expansion  of  a single  being  as  far  as  God,  — 
such  is  love. 

Love  is  the  salutation  of  the  angels  to  the  stars. 

How  sad  the  soul  is  when  it  is  sad  through  love  ! 
What  a void  is  the  absence  of  the  being  who  of  her 
own  self  fills  the  world  ! Oh,  how  true  it  is  that 
the  beloved  being  becomes  God  ! We  might  under- 
stand how  God  might  be  jealous,  had  not  the  Father 
of  all  evidently  made  creation  for  the  soul,  and  the 
soul  for  love. 

The  soul  only  needs  to  see  a smile  in  a white  crape 
bonnet  in  order  to  enter  the  palace  of  dreams. 

God  is  behind  everything,  but  everything  conceals 
God.  Things  are  black  and  creatures  are  opaque,  but 
to  love  a being  is  to  render  her  transparent. 

Certain  thoughts  are  prayers.  There  are  moments 
when  the  soul  is  kneeling,  no  matter  what  the  atti- 
tude of  the  body  may  be. 


A HEART  UNDER  A STONE. 


169 


Separated  lovers  cheat  absence  bj  a thousand 
chimerical  things,  which,  however,  have  then’  reality. 
They  are  prevented  seeing  each  other,  and  they  can- 
not write,  but  they  find  a number  of  mysterious  ways 
to  correspond.  They  send  to  each  other  the  song  of 
birds,  the  light  of  the  sun,  the  sighs  of  the  breeze, 
the  rays  of  the  stars,  and  the  whole  of  creation  ; and 
why  should  they  not  ? All  the  works  of  God  are 
made  to  serve  love.  Love  is  sufficiently  powerful  to 
interest  all  nature  in  its  messages. 

Oh,  Spring,  thou  art  a letter  which  I write  to  her. 

The  future  belongs  even  more  to  hearts  than  to 
minds.  Loving  is  the  only  thing  which  can  occupy 
and  fill  the  immensity,  for  the  infinite  needs  the 
inexhaustible. 

Love  is  a portion  of  the  soul  itself,  and  is  of  the 
same  nature  as  it.  Like  it,  it  is  the  divine  spark  ; 
like  it,  it  is  incorruptible,  indi\’isible,  and  imperish- 
able. It  is  a point  of  fire  within  us,  which  is  immortal 
and  infinite ; which  nothing  can  limit,  and  nothing 
extinguish.  We  feel  it  burning  even  in  the  marrow 
of  our  bones,  and  see  its  flashing  in  the  depths  of  the 
heavens. 

Oh,  love  ! adoration  ! voluptuousness  of  two  minds 
which  comprehend  each  other,  of  two  hearts  which 
are  exchanged,  of  two  glances  that  penetrate  one 
another  ! You  will  come  to  me,  oh  happiness,  will 
you  not  ? Lovers’  walks  in  the  solitudes,  blest  and 
radiant  days ! I have  dreamed  that  from  time  to 


170 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


time  hours  were  detached  from  the  lives  of  the 
angels,  and  came  down  here  to  traverse  the  destinies 
of  men. 

God  can  add  nothing  to  the  happiness  of  those  who 
love,  except  giving  them  endless  duration.  After  a 
life  of  love,  an  eternity  of  love  is  in  truth  an  aug- 
mentation ; but  it  is  impossible  even  for  God  to  in- 
crease in  its  intensity  the  ineffable  felicity  which  love 
gives  to  the  soul  in  this  world.  God  is  the  fulness 
of  heaven,  love  is  the  fulness  of  man. 

You  gaze  at  a star  for  two  motives,  because  it  is 
luminous  and  because  it  is  impenetrable.  You  have 
by  your  side  a sweeter  radiance  and  greater  mystery, 
— woman. 

All  of  us,  whoever  we  may  be,  have  our  respirable 
beings.  If  they  fail  us,  air  fails  us,  and  we  stifle  and 
die.  Dying  through  want  of  love  is  frightful,  for  it 
is  the  asphyxia  of  the  soul. 

When  love  has  blended  and  moulded  two  beings 
in  an  angelic  and  sacred  union,  they  have  found  the 
secret  of  life ; henceforth  they  are  only  the  two  terms 
of  the  same  destiny,  the  two  wings  of  one  mind. 
Love  and  soar ! 

On  the  day  when  a woman  who  passes  before  you 
emits  light  as  she  walks,  you  are  lost,  for  you  love. 
You  have  from  that  moment  but  one  thing  to  do ; 
think  of  her  so  intently  that  she  will  be  compelled 
to  think  of  you. 


A HEART  UNDER  A STONE. 


171 


That  which  love  begins,  God  alone  can  finish. 

True  love  is  in  despair,  or  enchanted  by  a lost 
glove  or  a found  handkerchief,  and  it  requires  eternity 
for  its  devotion  and  its  hopes.  It  is  composed  at 
once  of  the  infinitely  great  and  the  infinitely  little. 

If  you  are  a stone,  be  a magnet ; if  you  are  a plant, 
be  sensitive ; if  you  are  a man,  be  love. 

Nothing  is  sufficient  for  love.  You  have  happi- 
ness and  you  wish  for  Paradise.  You  have  Paradise, 
and  you  crave  for  heaven.  Oh,  ye  who  love  each 
other,  all  this  is  in  love,  contrive  to  find  it  there. 
Love  has,  equally  with  heaven,  contemplation,  and 
more  than  heaven,  voluptuousness. 

Does  she  still  go  to  the  Luxembourg?  No,  sir.  — 
Does  she  attend  mass  in  that  church  ? She  does  not 
go  there  any  longer.  — Does  she  still  live  in  this  house  ? 
She  has  removed.  — ^Miere  has  she  gone  to  live  ? 
She  did  not  leave  her  address. 

What  a gloomy  thing  it  is  not  to  know  where  to 
find  one’s  soul. 

Love  has  its  childishness,  and  other  passions  have 
their  littleness.  Shame  on  the  passions  that  make 
a man  little ! Honor  to  the  one  that  makes  him  a 
child ! 

It  is  a strange  thing,  are  you  aware  of  it?  I am 
in  the  night.  There  is  a being  who  vanished  and 
took  heaven  with  her. 


1/2 


THE  EUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


Oh ! to  lie  side  bj  side  in  the  same  tomb,  hand  in 
hand,  and  to  gently  caress  a finger  from  time  to  time 
in  the  darkness,  would  suffice  for  my  eternity. 

You  who  suffer  because  you  love,  love  more  than 
ever.  To  die  of  love  is  to  live  through  it. 

Love,  a gloomy  starry  transfiguration,  is  mingled 
vdth  this  punishment,  and  there  is  ecstasy  in  the 
agony. 

Oh,  joy  of  birds ! they  sing  because  they  have 
the  nest. 

Love  is  the  celestial  breathing  of  the  atmosphere 
of  Paradise. 

Profound  hearts,  wise  minds,  take  life  as  God 
makes  it ; it  is  a long  trial,  an  unintelligible  prepara- 
tion for  the  unknown  destiny.  This  destiny,  the  true 
one,  begins  for  man  with  the  first  step  in  the  interior 
of  the  tomb.  Then  something  ajjpears  to  him,  and 
he  begins  to  distinguish  the  definite.  The  definite,  re- 
flect on  that  word.  The  living  see  the  infinite,  but  the 
definite  only  shows  itself  to  the  dead.  In  the  mean 
while,  love  and  suffer,  hope  and  contemplate.  Woe, 
alas,  to  the  man  who  has  only  loved  bodies,  shapes, 
and  appearances ! Death  will  strip  him  of  all  that. 
Try  to  love  souls,  and  you  wiU  meet  them  again. 

I have  met  in  the  street  a very  poor  young  man 
who  was  in  love.  His  hat  was  old,  his  coat  worn. 


A HEART  UNDER  A STONE.  173 

the  elbows  in  holes  ; the  water  passed  through  his 
shoes,  and  the  stars  through  his  soul. 

What  a grand  thing  it  is  to  be  loved  ! What  a 
grander  thing  still  to  love ! The  heart  becomes 
heroic  by  the  might  of  passion.  Henceforth  it  is 
composed  of  nought  but  what  is  pm’e,  and  is  only 
supported  by  what  is  elevated  and  great.  An  un- 
worthy thought  can  no  more  germinate  in  it  than  a 
nettle  on  a glacier.  The  lofty  and  serene  soul,  inac- 
cessible to  emotions  and  vulgar  passions,  soaring 
above  the  clouds  and  shadows  of  the  world,  — follies, 
falsehoods,  hatreds,  vanities,  and  miseries, — dwells  in 
the  azure  of  the  sky,  and  henceforth  only  feels  the 
profound  and  subterranean  heavings  of  destiny  as 
the  summit  of  the  mountains  feels  earthquakes. 

If  there  were  nobody  who  loved,  the  sun  would  be 
extinguished. 


CHAPTER  V. 


COSETTB  AFTER  THE  LETTER. 

While  reading  these  lines  Cosette  gradually  fell 
into  a reverie,  and  at  the  moment  when  she  raised 
her  eyes  from  the  last  page  the  handsome  officer 
passed  triumphantly  in  front  of  the  gate ; for  it  was 
his  hour.  Cosette  found  him  hideous.  She  began 
gazing  at  the  roll  of  paper  again  ; it  was  in  an  ex- 
quisite hand-writing,  Cosette  thought,  all  written  by 
the  same  hand,  but  with  different  inks,  some  very 
black,  others  pale,  as  when  ink  is  put  in  the  stand, 
and  consequently  on  different  days.  It  was,  there- 
fore, a thought  expanded  on  the  paper,  sigh  by  sigh, 
irregularly,  without  order,  without  choice,  without 
purpose,  accidentally.  Cosette  had  never  read  any- 
thing like  it ; this  mannscript,  in  which  she  saw  more 
light  than  obscurity,  produced  on  her  the  effect  of 
the  door  of  a shrine  left  ajar.  Each  of  these  myste- 
rions  lines  flashed  in  her  eyes,  and  flooded  her  heart 
with  a strange  light.  The  edncation  which  she  had 
received  had  always  spoken  to  her  of  the  soul,  and 
not  of  love,  much  as  if  a person  were  to  speak  of  the 
burning  log  and  say  nothing  about  the  flame.  This 
manuscript  of  fifteen  pages  suddenly  and  gently  re- 
vealed to  her  the  whole  of  love,  sorrow,  destiny,  life, 


COSETTE  AFTER  THE  LETTER. 


175 


eternity,  the  beginning  and  the  end.  It  was  like  a 
hand  which  opened  and  threw  upon  her  a galaxy 
of  beams.  She  felt  in  these  lines  an  impassioned, 
ardent,  generous,  and  honest  nature,  a sacred  will, 
an  immense  grief  and  an  immense  hope,  a contracted 
heart,  and  an  expanded  ecstasy/}  What  was  the 
?nanuscript?  A letter.  A letter  without  address, 
name,  or  signature,  pressing  and  disinterested,  an 
enigma  composed  of  truths,  a love-message  fit  to  be 
borne  by  an  angel  and  read  by  a virgin  ; a rendezvous 
appointed  olf  the  world,  a sweet  love-letter  written 
by  a phantom  to  a shadow.  It  was  a tranquil  and 
crushed  absent  man,  who  seemed  ready  to  seek  a 
refuge  in  death,  and  who  sent  to  his  absent  love  the 
secret  of  destiny,  the  key  of  life.  [It  had  been  written 
with  one  foot  in  the  grave  and  the  hand  in  heaven, 
and  these  lines,  which  had  fallen  one  by  one  on  the 
paper,  were  what  might  be  called  drops  of  the  souQ 
And  now,  from  whom  could  these  pages  come  ? 
Who  could  have  written  them?  Cosette  did  not 
hesitate  for  a moment,  — only  from  one  man,  from 
him  ! Daylight  had  returned  to  her  mind  and  every- 
thing reappeared.  t^She  experienced  an  extraordinary 
joy  and  a profound  agonj^  It  was  he  ! He  who  wrote 
to  her ; he  had  been  there  ; his  arm  had  been  passed 
through  the  railings  ! While  she  was  forgetting  him 
he  had  found  her  again  ! But  had  she  forgotten 
him  ? Ho,  never ! she  was  mad  to  have  thought  so 
for  a moment ; for  she  had  ever  loved,  ever  adored 
him.  \The  fire  was  covered,  and  had  smouldered  for 
a while,  but,  as  she  now  plainly  saw,  it  had  spread 
its  ravages,  and  again  burst  into  a flame  which 


176 


THE  EUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


entirely  kindled  her.  This  letter  was  like  a spark 
that  had  fallen  from  the  other  soul  into  hers ; she 
felt  the  fire  begin  again,  and  she  was  penetrated  by 
every  word  of  the  manuscript.  “ Oh,  yes,”  she  said 
to  herself,  “ how  well  I recognize  all  this ! I had 
read  it  all  already  in  his  eyes.” 

As  she  finished  reading  it  for  the  third  time.  Lieu- 
tenant Theodule  returned  past  the  railings,  and 
clanked  his  spurs  on  the  pavement.  Cosette  was 
obliged  to  raise  her  eyes,  and  she  found  him  insipid, 
silly,  stupid,  useless,  fatuous,  displeasing,  imperti- 
nent, and  very  ugly.  The  officer  thought  himself 
bound  to  smile,  and  she  turned  away  ashamed  and 
indignant ; she  would  have  gladly  thrown  something 
at  his  hea^  She  ran  away,  re-entered  the  house, 
and  locked  herself  in  her  bedroom,  to  re-read  the 
letter,  learn  it  by  heart,  and  dream.  When  she  had 
read  it  thoroughly,  she  kissed  it  and  hid  it  in  her 
bosom.  It  was  all  over.  Cosette  had  fallen  back 
into  the  profound  seraphic  love ; the  Paradisaic  abyss 
had  opened  again.  The  whole  day  through,  Cosette 
was  in  a state  of  bewilderment ; she  hardly  thought, 
and  her  ideas  were  confused  in  her  brain  ; she  could 
not  succeed  in  forming  any  conjectures,  and  she 
hoped  through  a tremor,  what  ? Vague  things.  She 
did  not  dare  promise  herself  anything,  and  she  would 
not  refuse  herself  anything.  A pallor  passed  over  her 
face,  and  a quiver  over  her  limbs  ;Qind  she  fancied  at 
moments  that  it  was  all  a chimera,  and  said  to  her- 
self, “Is  it  real  ? ” Then  she  felt  the  well-beloved 
paper  under  her  dress,  pressed  it  to  her  heart,  felt 
the  corners  against  her  flesh,  and  if  Jean  Valjean  had 


COSETTE  AFTER  THE  LETTER. 


1/7 


seen  her  at  that  moment  he  would  have  shuddered 
at  the  luminous  and  strange  joy  which  overflowed 
from  her  eyelids.  “ Oh,  yes,”  she  thought,  “ it  is  cer- 
tainly his  ! This  comes  from  him  for  me  ! ” And  she 
said  to  herself  that  an  intervention  of  the  angels,  a 
celestial  accident,  had  restored  him  to  her.  Oh,  trans- 
flguration  of  love  ! oh,  dreams  ! this  celestial  accident, 
this  intervention  of  angels,  was  the  ball  of  bread  cast 
by  one  robber  to  another  from  the  Charlemagne  yard 
to  the  Lions’  den,  over  the  buildings  of  La  Force. 


VOL.  IV. 


12 


CHAPTER  VI. 


THE  OLD  PEOPLE  ARE  OPPORTUNELY  OBLIGED  TO 
GO  OUT. 

When  night  came  Jean  Valjean  went  out,  and 
Cosette  dressed  herself.  She  arranged  her  hair  in 
the  way  that  best  became  her,  and  put  on  a dress 
whose  body, /being  cut  a little  too  low^lisplayed  the 
whole  of  the  neck,/and  was  therefore,  as  girls  say, 
“ rather  indecent.”  It  was  not  the  least  in  the  world 
indecent,  but  it  was  prettier  than  the  former  fashioul) 
She  dressed  herself  in  this  way  without  knowing 
why.  Was  she  going  out?  No.  Did  she  expect  a 
visitor  ? No.  She  went  down  into  the  garden  as  it 
grew  dark ; Toussaint  was  engaged  in  her  kitchen, 
which  looked  out  on  the  back-yard.  Cosette  began 
walking  under  the  branches,  removing  them  from 
time  to  time  with  her  hand,  as  some  were  very  low, 
and  thus  reached  the  bench.  The  stone  was  still 
there,  and  she  sat  down  and  laid  her  beautiful  white 
hand  on  the  stone,  as  if  to  caress  and  thank  it.  All 
at  once  she  had  that  indescribable  feeling  which 
people  experience  even  without  seeing,  when  some 
one  is  standing  behind  them.  She  turned  her  head 
and  rose,  — it  was  he.  |JHe  was  bareheaded,  and 
seemed  pale  and  thin,  and  his  black  clothes  could 
scarcely  be  distinguished.  The  twilight  rendered  his 


THE  OLD  PEOPLE  OPPORTUNELY  GO  OUT.  179 

glorious  forehead  livid,  and  covered  his  eyes  with 
darkness  ; and  he  had,  beneath  a veil  of  incomparable 
gentleness,  something  belonging  to  death  and  night. 
His  face  was  lit  up  by  the  flush  of  departing  day, 
and  by  the  thoughts  of  an  expiring  soul.  He  seemed 
as  if  he  were  not  yet  a spectre,  but  was  no  longer  a 
man.  His  hat  was  thrown  among  the  shrubs  a few 
paces  from  him."!  Cosette,  though  ready  to  ftiint,  did 
not  utter  a cry  ; she  slowly  recoiled,  as  she  felt  her- 
self attracted,  but  he  did  not  stir.  Through  the  inef- 
fable sadness  that  enveloped  him  she  felt  the  glance 
of  the  eyes  which  she  could  not  see.  Cosette,  in 
recoiling,  came  to  a tree,  and  leaned  against  it ; had 
it  not  been  for  this  tree  she  would  have  fallen. 
Then  she  heal’d  his  voice,  that  voice  which  she  had 
really  nev’er  heard  before,  scarce  louder  than  the 
rustling  of  the  foliage,  as  he  murmured,  — 

“ Pardon  me  for  being  here  ; my  heart  is  swollen. 
I could  not  live  as  I was,  and  I have  come.  Have 
you  read  what  I placed  on  that  bench  ? Do  you 
recognize  me  at  all  ? Do  not  be  frightened  at  me. 
Do  you  remember  that  day  when  you  looked  at  me, 
now  so  long  ago  ? It  was  in  the  Luxembourg  gar- 
den ipear  the  Gladiator^and  the  days  on  which  you 
passed  before  me  were  June  16  and  July  2 ; it  is 
nearly  a year  ago.  I have  not  seen  you  again  for  a 
very  long  time.  !j  inquired  of  the  woman  who  lets 
out  chairs,  and  she  said  that  you  no  longer  came 
there.  You  lived  in  the  Rue  de  I’Ouest  on  the  third- 
floor  front  of  a new  house.  You  see  that  I know. 

I followed  you,  what  else  could  I do  ? And  then  you 
disappeared.  I fancied  that  I saw  you  pass  once  as 


180 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


I was  reading  the  papers  under  tlie  Odeon  Arcade, 
and  ran  after  you,  but  no,  it  was  a person  wearing  a 
bonnet  like  youi’s.  At  night  I come  here  — fear  no- 
thing, no  one  sees  me.  I come  to  gaze  and  be  near 
your  windows,  and  I walk  very  softly  that  you  may 
not  hear  me,  for  you  might  be  alarmed.  The  other 
evening  I was  behind  you ; you  turned  round,  and  I 
fled.  Once  I heard  you  sing  ; I was  happy.  Does  it 
harm  you  that  I shoukl^  listen  to  you  through  the 
shutters  while  singing  ? No,  it  cannot  harm  you3 
You  see,  you  are  my  angel,  so  let  me  come  now  and 
then.  I believe  that  I am  going  to  die.  If  you  only 
knew  how  I adore  you  ! Forgive  me  for  speaking 
to  you.  I know  not  what  I am  saying,  perhaps  I 
offend  you  — do  I offend  you  ? — ” 

“ Oh,  my  mother  ! ” said  she. 

And  she  sank  down  as  if  she  were  dying.  He 
seized  her  in  his  arms  and  pressed  her  to  his  heart, 
not  knowing  what  he  did.  Though  reeling  himself, 
he  supported  her.  He  felt  as  if  his  head  were  full 
of  smoke  ; flashes  passed  between  his  eye-lashes.  His 
ideas  left  him;  and  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  he  were 
accomplishing  a religious  act,  and  yet  committing  a 
profanation.  fHowever,  he  had  not  the  least  desire 
for  this  ra\dshing  creature,  whose  form  he  felt  against 
his  bosoiiT]  he  was  distractedly  in  love.  She  took  his 
hand,  and  laid  it  on  her  heart ; he  felt  the  paper 
there,  and  stammered, — 

“ You  love  me,  then  ? ” 

She  answered  in  so  low  a voice  that  it  was  almost 
an  inaudible  breath,  — 

“ Silence  ! you  know  I do.” 


THE  OLD  PEOPLE  OPPOETUNELY  GO  OUT.  181 


And  she  hid  her  blushing  face  in  the  bosom  of  the 
proud  and  intoxicated  young  man.  He  fell  on  to 
the  bench,  and  she  by  his  side.  They  no  longer 
found  Avords,  and  the  stars  w^ere  beginning  to 
tAA'inkle.  Hoaa"  came  it  that  their  lips  met  ? How 
comes  it  that  the  bird  sings,  the  snoAV  melts,  the 
rose  opens,  ]\Iay  bursts  into  life,  and  the  daAvn  grows 
AA'hite  behind  the  black  trees  on  the  rustling  tops 
of  the  hills  ? jjOne  kiss,  and  that  AA’as  all.  Both 
trembled  and  gazed  at  each  other  in  the  darkness 
Avith  flashing  eyes.  They  neither  felt  the  fresh  night 
nor  the  cold  stone,  nor  the  damp  grass,  nor  the  moist 
soil,  — they  looked  at  each  other,  and  their  hearts 
AA^ere  full  of  thought.  Their  hands  AA^ere  clasped 
Avithout  their  cognizance.  She  did  not  ask  him,  did 
not  eA"en  think  of  it,  hoAV  he  had  managed  to  enter 
the  garden ; for  it  seemed  to  her  so  simple  that  he 
should  be  there.  From  time  to  time  Marius’s  knee 
touched  Cosette’s  knee,  and  both  quiA’ered.  At  in- 
teiwals  Cosette  stammered  a Avord ; her  soul  trembled 
on  her  lips  like  tlie  deAA^drop  on  a floAA"ei\3 

Gradually  they  conA-ersed,  ]and  expansiA'eness  suc- 
ceeded the  silence  Avhich  is  plenitude.  The,  night 
was  serene  and  splendid  aboA^e  their  heads,  autUthese 
two  beings,  pure  as  spirits,  told  each  other  eA^ery- 
thiug,  — their  dreams,  their  intoxication,  their  ecs- 
tasy, their  chimeras,  their  depressions,  hoAV  they  had 
adored  and  longed  for  each  other  at  a distance,  and 
their  mutual  despair  Avhen  they  ceased  to  meet. 
Ijhey  confided  to  each  other  in  an  ideal  intimacy, 
AA'hich  nothing  henceforth  could  increase,  all  their 
most  hidden  and  mysterious  thoughts.  They  told 


182 


THE  EUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


each  other,  with  a candid  faith  in  their  illusions,  all 
that  love,  youth,  and  the  remnant  of  childhood  which 
they  still  had,  brought  to  their  minds.  Their  two 
hearts  were  poured  into  each  other ; so  that  at  the 
end  of  an  hour  the  young  man  had  the  maiden^’s  soul 
and  the  maiden  his.  They  were  mutually  penetrated, 
enchanted,  and  dazzled^  When  they  had  finished, 
wheu  they  had  told  each  other  everything,  she  laid 
her  head  on  his  shoulder  and  asked  him,  — 

“ What  is  your  name  ? ” 

“ Marius,”  he  said ; “ and  yours  ? ” 

“ Mine  is  Cosette.” 


BOOK  VI. 


LITTLE  GAVROCHE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

A MALICIOUS  TRICK  OF  THE  IVIKD, 

Since  1823,  while  the  public-house  at  'iMontfer- 
meil  was  sinking  and  gradually  being  swallowed  up, 
not  in  the  abyss  of  a bankruptcy,  but  in  the  seiver 
of  small  debts,  the  Thenardiers  had  had  two  more 
children,  both  male.  These  made  five,  two  daugh- 
ters and  three  boys,  and  they  were  a good  many. 
The  mother  had  got  rid  of  the  latter  while  still 
babies  by  a singular  piece  of  good  luck.  Got  rid  of, 
that  is  exactly  the  term,  for  in  this  woman  there  was 
only  a fragment  of  nature ; it  is  a phenomenon,  how- 
ever, of  which  there  is  more  than  one  instance. 
Like  the  Marechale  de  Lamothe-Houdancourt,  the 
Thenardier  was  only  a mother  as  far  as  her  daughters, 
and  her  maternity  ended  there.  Her  hatred  of  the 
human  race  began  vdth  her  boys  ; on  the  side  of  her 
sons  her  cruelty  was  pei’pendicular,  and  her  heart 
had  in  this  respect  a dismal  steepness.  As  we  have 
seen,  she  detested  the  eldest,  and  execrated  the  two 
others.  Why  ? Because  she  did.  The  most  terrible 


184 


THE  EUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


of  motives  and  most  indisputable  of  answers  is, 
Because.  “ I do  not  want  a pack  of  squalling 
brats,”  this  mother  said. 

Let  us  now  explain  how  the  Th^nardicrs  managed 
to  dispose  of  their  last  two  children,  and  even 
make  a profit  of  them.  That  Magnon,  to  whom  we 
referred  a few  pages  back,  was  the  same  who  con- 
tinued to  get  an  annuity  out  of  old  Gillenormand 
for  the  two  children  she  had.  She  lived  on  the 
Quai  des  C^lestins,  at  the  corner  of  that  ancient 
Rue  du  Petit-Musc,  which  has  done  all  it  could  to 
change  its  bad  reputation  into  a good  odor.  Our 
readers  will  remember  the  great  croup  epidemic, 
which,  thirty-five  years  ago,  desolated  the  banks  of 
the  Seine  in  Paris,  and  of  which  science  took  advan- 
tage to  make  experiments  on  a grand  scale  as  to  the 
efficacy  of  inhaling  alum,  for  which  the  external  ap- 
plication of  tincture  of  iodine  has  been  so  usefully 
substituted  in  our  day.  In  this  epidemic  Magnon 
lost  her  two  boys,  still  very  young,  on  the  same  day, 
one  in  the  morning,  the  other  in  the  evening.  It  was 
a blow,  for  these  children  were  precious  to  their 
mother,  as  they  represented  eighty  francs  a month. 
These  eighty  francs  were  very  punctually  paid  by  the 
receiver  of  M.  Gillenormand’s  rents,  a M.  Barge,  a 
retired  bailiff  who  lived  in  the  Rue  de  Sicile.  When 
the  children  were  dead  the  annuity  was  buried,  and 
so  Magnon  sought  an  expedient.  In  the  dark  free- 
masonry of  evil  of  which  she  formed  part  everything 
is  known,  secrets  are  kept,  and  people  help  each 
other.  Magnon  wanted  two  children,  and  Madame 
Thdnardier  had  two  of  the  same  size  and  age ; it 


A MALICIOUS  TRICK  OF  THE  WIND.  185 


was  a good  arrangement  for  one,  and  an  excellent 
investment  for  the  other.  The  little  Thenardiers 
became  the  little  hlagnons,  and  Magnon  left  the 
Quai  des  C^lestins,  and  went  to  live  in  the  Rue 
Cloche-Perce.  In  Paris  the  identity  which  attaches 
an  individual  to  himself  is  broken  by  moving  from 
one  street  to  the  others.  The  authorities,  not  being 
warned  by  anything,  made  no  objections,  and  the 
substitution  was  effected  in  the  simplest  way  in  the 
world.  Thenardier,  however,  demanded  for  this  loan 
of  children  ten  francs  a month,  which  iMagnon  pro- 
mised, and  even  paid.  We  need  not  say  that  M. 
Gillenormand  continued  to  sacrifice  himself,  and  went 
every  six  months  to  see  the  children.  He  did  not 
notice  the  change,  “ Oh,  sir,”  Magnon  would  say  to 
him,  “ how  like  you  they  are,  to  be  sure.” 

Thenardier,  to  whom  avatars  were  an  easy  task, 
seized  this  opportunity  to  become  Jondrette.  His 
two  daughters  and  Gavroche  had  scarcely  had  time 
to  perceive  that  they  had  two  little  brothers  ; for  in 
a certain  stage  of  misery  people  are  affected  by  a sort 
of  spectral  indifierence,  and  regard  human  beings  as 
ghosts.  Your  nearest  relatives  are  often  to  you  no 
more  than  vague  forms  of  the  shadow,  hardly  to  be 
distinguished  from  the  nebulous  back-ground  of  life, 
and  which  easily  become  blended  again  with  the 
invisible.  On  the  evening  of  the  day  when  Mother 
Thenardier  handed  over  her  two  babes  to  Magnon, 
with  the  well-expressed  will  of  renouncing  them  for- 
ever, she  felt,  or  pretended  to  feel,  a scruple,  and  said 
to  her  husband,  “ ^Yhy,  that  is  deserting  one’s  chil- 
dren ! ” But  Thenardier,  magisterial  and  phlegmatic. 


186 


THE  KUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


cauterized  the  scruple  's^ith  this  remark,  “ Jean 
Jacques  Rousseau  did  better.”  From  scruple  the 
mother  passed  to  auxiety  : “ But  suppose  the  police 
Avere  to  trouble  us  ? Tell  me,  iMonsieur  Tluiuardier, 
Avhether  what  we  have  done  is  permitted  ? ” The- 
nardier  replied : “ Everything  is  permitted.  Nobody 
will  see  through  it  out  of  the  blue.  Besides,  no  one 
has  any  interest  in  inquiring  closely  after  children 
that  have  not  a sou.”  IMagnon  Avas  a sort  of  she- 
dandy  in  crime,  and  dressed  liandsoiuely.  She  shared 
her  rooms,  Avhich  Avere  furnished  in  a conventional 
and  miserable  Avay,  Avith  a very  cleA’er  Gallicized 
English  thief.  This  EnglisliAvoman,  a naturalized 
Parisian,  respectable  through  her  poAverful  and  rich 
connections,  A\dio  was  closely  connected  Avith  medals 
of  the  library  and  the  diamonds  of  Mademoiselle 
JMars,  AA'as  at  a later  date  celebrated  in  the  annals  of 
crime.  She  AA^as  called  “ Mamselle  Miss.”  The  two 
little  ones  aaJio  had  fallen  into  Magnon’s  clutches 
had  no  cause  to  complain ; recommended  by  the 
eighty  francs,  they  Avere  taken  care  of,  like  eA'ery- 
thing  which  brings  in  a profit.  They  Avere  not  badly 
clothed,  not  badly  fed,  treated  almost  like  “little 
gentlemen,”  and  better  off  AAfith  their  false  mother 
than  the  true  one.  Magnon  acted  the  lady,  and 
ne\’er  talked  slang  in  their  presence.  They  spent 
seA^eral  years  there,  and  Thenardier  augured  Avell  of 
it.  One  day  he  happened  to  say  to  IMagnon  as  she 
handed  him  the  monthly  ten  francs,  “ The  ‘ father  ’ 
must  giA'e  them  an  education.” 

All  at  once  these  tAvo  poor  little  creatures,  hitherto 
tolerably  Avell  protected,  even  by  their  eAnl  destiny. 


A MALICIOUS  TRICK  OF  THE  WIND.  187 


were  suddenly  hurled  into  life,  and  forced  to  begin 
it.  An  arrest  of  criminals  en  masse,  like  that  in 
the  Jondrette  garret,  being  necessarily  complicated 
AAuth  researches  and  ulterior  incarcerations,  is  a ver- 
itable disaster  for  that  hideous  and  occult  counter- 
society which  lives  beneath  public  society ; and  an 
adventure  of  this  nature  produces  aU  sorts  of  con- 
\Tilsions  in  this  gloomy  world.  The  catastrophe  of 
the  Thenardiers  was  the  catastrophe  of  Magnon. 
One  day,  a little  while  after  jMagnon  had  given 
Eponine  the  note  relating  to  the  Rue  Plumet,  the 
police  made  a sudden  descent  on  the  Rue  Cloche- 
Perce.  IMagnon  was  arrested,  as  Avas  iVIaniselle 
Miss,  and  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  house  AA^hich 
Avere  suspected  were  caught  in  the  haul.  The  tAvo 
little  boys  Avere  playing  at  the  time  in  the  back-yard, 
and  saAV  nothing  of  the  raid ; but  Avhen  they  tried  to 
go  in  they  found  the  door  locked  and  the  house 
empty.  A cobbler  Avhose  stall  Avas  opposite  called 
to  them  and  gaA^e  them  a paper  which  “their  mother” 
had  left  for  them.  On  the  paper  Avas  this  address, 
“ M.  Barge,  receiver  of  rents,  No.  8,  Rue  du  Roi  de 
Sicile.”  The  cobbler  said  to  them  : “A^ou  no  longer 
lAe  here.  Go  there,  it  is  close  by,  the  first  street  on 
your  left.  Ask  your  way  Avith  that  paper.”  The 
boys  set  off,  the  elder  leading  the  younger,  and  hold- 
ing in  his  hand  the  paper  Avhich  was  to  serve  as  their 
guide.  It  Avas  cold,  and  his  little  numbed  fingers 
held  the  paper  badly,  and  at  the  corner  of  a lane  a 
puff  of  Avind  tore  it  from  him ; and  as  it  Avas  night  the 
boy  could  not  find  it  again.  They  began  AA’andering 
about  the  streets  haphazard. 


CHAPTER  II. 


GAVKOCHE  HEAPS  ADVANTAGE  FROM  NAPOLEON 
THE  GREAT. 

Spring  in  Paris  is  very  frequently  traversed  by 
sliarp,  violent  breezes  which,  if  they  do  not  freeze, 
chill.  These  breezes,  which  sadden  the  brightest 
days,  produce  exactly  the  same  effect  as  the  blasts 
of  cold  wind  which  enter  a warm  room  through  the 
crevices  of  a badly  closed  door  or  window.  It  seems 
as  if  the  gloomy  gate  of  winter  has  been  left  ajar, 
and  that  the  wind  comes  from  there.  In  the  sirring 
of  1832,  the  period  when  the  first  great  epidemic  of 
this  century  broke  out  in  Europe,  these  breezes  were 
sharper  and  more  cutting  than  ever,  and  some  door 
even  more  icy  than  that  of  winter  had  been  left 
ajar.  It  was  the  door  of  the  sepulchre,  and  the 
breath  of  cholera  could  be  felt  in  these  breezes. 
From  a meteorological  point  of  view  these  cold 
winds  had  the  peculiarity  that  they  did  not  exclude 
a powerful  electric  tension.  Frequent  storms,  ac- 
companied by  thunder  and  lightning,  broke  out  at 
this  period. 

One  evening,  when  these  breezes  were  blowing 
sharply,  so  sharply  that  January  seemed  to  have 
returned,  and  the  citizens  had  put  on  their  cloaks 
again,  little  Gavroche,  still  shivering  gayly  under  his 


GAVEOCHE  TO  THE  EESCUE. 


189 


rasrs,  was  standing  as  if  in  ecstasy  in  front  of  a hair- 
dresser’s  shop  in  the  yicinity  of  the  Orme-Saint 
Gervais.  He  was  adorned  with  a woman’s  woollen 
shawl,  picked  up  no  one  knew  where,  of  which  he 
had  made  a muffler.  Little  Gavi'oche  appeared  to 
be  lost  in  admiration  of  a waxen  image  of  a bride, 
wearing  a very  low-necked  dress,  and  a wreath  of 
orange-flowers  in  her  hair,  which  revolved  between 
two  lamps,  and  lavished  its  smiles  on  the  passers-by  ; 
but  in  reality  he  was  watching  the  shop  to  see 
whether  he  could  not  “ prig  ” a cake  of  soap,  which 
he  would  afterwards  sell  for  a sou  to  a barber  in 
the  suburbs.  He  frequently  breakfasted  on  one  of 
these  cakes,  and  he  called  this  style  of  work,  for 
which  he  had  a talent,  ‘‘  shaving  the  barbers.”  While 
regarding  the  bride,  and  casting  sheep’s  eyes  on  the 
cake  of  soap,  he  growled  between  his  teeth  : “ Tues- 
day ; this  is  not  Tuesday.  Is  it  Tuesday  ? Perhaps 
it  is  Tuesday ; yes,  it  is  Tuesday.”  What  this 
soliloquy  referred  to  was  never  known  ; but  if  it 
was  to  the  last  time  he  had  dined,  it  was  three  days 
ago,  for  the  present  day  was  a Friday.  The  barber, 
in  his  shop  warmed  with  a good  stove,  was  sha\dng 
a customer  and  taking  every  now  and  then  a side- 
glance  at  this  enemy,  — this  shivering  and  impudent 
gamin  who  had  his  two  hands  in  his  pockets,  but 
his  mind  e\'idently  elsewhere. 

While  Ga\Toche  was  examining  the  bride,  the 
'window',  and  the  Windsor  soap,  two  boys  of  unequal 
height,  very  decently  dressed,  and  younger  than  him- 
self, one  apparently  seven,  the  other  live  years  of 
age,  timidly  turned  the  handle  and  entered  the  shop, 


190 


THE  EUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


asking  for  something,  charity  possibly,  in  a plaintive 
murmur  which  was  more  like  a sob  than  a prayer. 
They  both  spoke  together,  and  their  words  were 
unintelligible,  because  sobs  choked  the  voice  of  the 
younger  boy,  and  cold  made  the  teeth  of  the  elder 
rattle.  The  barber  turned  with  a furious  face,  and 
without  laying  down  his  razor  drove  the  older  boy 
into  the  street  with  his  left  hand,  and  the  little  one 
with  his  knee,  and  closed  the  door  again,  saying,  — 

“ To  come  and  chill  people  for  nothing  ! ” 

The  two  lads  set  out  again,  crying.  A cloud  had 
come  up  in  the  mean  while,  and  it  began  raining, 
liittle  Gavroche  ran  up  to  them,  and  accosted  them 
thus,  — 

“ What ’s  the  matter  with  you,  brats  ? ” 

“ We  don’t  know  where  to  sleep,”  the  elder 
replied. 

“ Is  that  all  ? ” said  Gavroche  ; “ that ’s  a great 
thing.  Is  that  anything  to  cry  about,  simpletons  ? ” 
And  assuming  an  accent  of  tender  affection  and  gentle 
protection,  which  was  visible  through  his  somewhat 
pompous  superiority,  he  said,  — 

“ Come  with  me,  kids.” 

“ Yes,  sir,”  said  the  elder  boy. 

And  the  two  children  followed  him  as  they  would 
have  done  an  archbishop,  and  left  off  crying.  Gav- 
roche led  them  along  the  Rue  St.  Antoine,  in  the 
direction  of  the  Bastille,  and  while  going  off  took 
an  indignant  and  retrospective  glance  at  the  barber’s 
shop. 

“ That  whiting  has  no  heart,”  he  growled  ; “ he ’s 
an  Englishman.” 


GAVROCHE  TO  THE  RESCUE. 


191 


A girl,  seeing  the  three  walking  in  file,  Gavroche 
at  the  head,  burst  into  a loud  laugh.  This  laugh 
was  disrespectful  to  the  party. 

“ Good  day,  Mamselle  Omnibus,”  Gavroche  said 
to  her. 

A moment  after  the  hair-dresser  returning  to  his 
mind,  he  added,  — 

“ I made  a mistake  about  the  brute  ; he.  is  not 
a whiting,  but  a snake.  Barber,  I ’ll  go  and  fetch 
a locksmith,  aud  order  him  to  put  a bell  on  your 
tail.” 

This  barber  had  made  him  aggressive ; as  he 
stepped  across  a gutter,  he  addressed  a bearded 
porteress,  worthy  to  meet  Faust  on  the  Brocken, 
and  who  was  holding  her  broom  in  her  hand,  — 

“ Madame,”  he  said  to  her,  “ I see  that  you  go 
out  with  your  horse.” 

Aud  after  this  he  plashed  the  varnished  boots  of  a 
passer-by. 

“ Scoundrel  ! ” the  gentleman  said  furiously. 
Ga\TOche  raised  his  nose  out  of  the  shawl. 

“ Have  you  a complaint  to  make,  sir  ? ” 

“ Yes,  of  you,”  said  the  gentleman. 

“ The  office  is  closed,”  Gavroche  remarked.  “ I 
don’t  receive  any  more  complaints  to-day.” 

As  he  went  along  the  street  he  noticed  a girl  of 
thirteen  or  fourteen,  shivering  in  a gateway,  in  such 
short  petticoats  that  she  showed  her  knees.  But  the 
little  girl  was  beginning  to  get  too  tall  a girl  for 
that.  Growth  plays  you  such  tricks,  and  the  petti- 
coat becomes  short  the  moment  that  nudity  becomes 
indecent. 


192 


THE  EUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


“ Poor  girl,”  said  Gavroche,  “ she  has  n’t  even  a 
pair  of  breeehes.  Here,  collar  this.” 

And  taking  off  all  the  good  wool  which  he  had 
round  his  neck  he  threw  it  over  the  thin  violet 
shoulders  of  the  beggar-girl,  when  the  muffler  be- 
came once  again  a shawl.  The  little  girl  looked  at 
him  with  an  astonished  air,  and  received  the  shawl 
in  silence.  At  a certain  stage  of  distress  a poor  man 
in  his  stupor  no  longer  groans  at  evil,  and  gives  no 
thanks  for  kindness.  This  done,  — 

“B-r-r!”  said  Gavroche,  colder  than  Saint  Martin, 
who,  at  any  rate,  retained  one  half  his  cloak.  On 
hearing  this  “ Brr,”  the  shower,  redoubling  its  passion, 
poured  down ; those  wicked  skies  punish  good  actions. 

“ Hilloh  ! ” Gavroche  shouted,  “ what ’s  the  mean- 
ing of  this  ? It  is  raining  again.  Bon  Dieu  ! if  this 
goes  on,  I shall  withdraw  my  subscription.” 

And  he  set  out  again. 

“ No  matter,”  he  said  as  he  took  a glance  at  the 
beggar-girl  crouching  under  her  shawl,  “ she ’s  got  a 
first-rate  skin.” 

And,  looking  at  the  clouds,  he  cried,  — “ Sold 
you  are ! ” 

The  two  children  limped  after  him,  and  as  they 
passed  one  of  those  thick  close  gratings  which  indi- 
cate a baker’s,  for  bread,  like  gold,  is  placed  behind  a 
grating,  Gavroche  turned  round. 

“ By  the  bye,  brats,  have  you  dined  ? ” 

“ We  have  had  nothing  to  eat,  sir,  since  early  this 
morning,”  the  elder  answered. 

“ Then  you  have  n’t  either  father  or  mother  ? ” 
Gavroche  continued  magisterially. 


GAVROCHE  TO  THE  RESCUE. 


193 


“ I beg  your  pardon,  sir  ; we  liave  a pa  and  a nia, 
but  we  don’t  know  where  they  are.” 

“ Sometimes  that  is  better  than  knowing,”  said 
GaxToche,  who  was  a philosopher  in  his  small 
way. 

“ "We  have  been  walking  about  for  two  honrs,” 
the  lad  continued,  “ and  looked  for  things  at  the  cor- 
ners of  the  streets,  but  found  nothing.” 

“ I know,”  said  Gavroche ; “ the  dogs  eat  every- 
thing.” 

He  resumed  after  a pause,  — 

“ And  so  we  have  lost  our  authors.  We  don’t 
know  what  we  have  done  with  them.  That  isn’t 
right,  gamins.  It  is  foolish  to  mislay  grown-up  peo- 
ple. Well,  one  must  swig,  for  all  that.” 

He  did  not  ask  them  any  more  questions,  for  what 
could  be  more  simple  than  to  have  no  domicile  ? 
The  elder  of  the  boys,  who  had  almost  entirely  re- 
covered the  happy  carelessness  of  childhood,  made 
this  remark  ; “ It  is  funny  all  the  same.  IMamma 
said  she  would  take  us  to  look  for  blessed  box,  on 
Palm  Sunday.  Mamma  is  a lady  who  lives  with 
Mamselle  Miss.” 

“ Tanflute  ! ” added  Ga^Toche. 

He  stopped,  and  for  some  minutes  searched  all 
sorts  of  corners  which  he  had  in  his  rags  : at  length 
he  raised  his  head  with  an  air  which  only  meant 
to  represent  satisfactfon,  but  whieh  was  in  reality 
triumphant,  — 

“ Calm  yourselves,  kids  ; here  is  supper  for  three.” 

And  he  drew  a sou  from  one  of  his  pockets  ; with- 
out giving  the  lads  time  to  feel  amazed,  he  pushed 

VOL.  IV.  1 3 


194 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


them  both  before  him  into  the  baker’s  shop,  and  laid 
his  sou  on  the  counter,  exclaiming,  — 

“ Gargon,  five  centimes’  worth  of  bread.” 

The  baker,  who  was  the  master  in  person,  took  up 
a loaf  and  a knife. 

“ In  three  pieces,  gar^on,”  remarked  Gavroche, 
and  he  added  with  dignity,  — 

“ We  are  three.” 

And  seeing  that  the  baker,  after  examining  the 
three  suppers,  had  taken  a loaf  of  black  bread,  he 
thrust  his  finger  into  his  nose,  with  as  imperious  a 
sniff  as  if  he  had  the  great  Frederick’s  pinch  of  snuff 
on  his  thumb,  and  cast  in  the  baker’s  face  this  indig- 
nant remark,  — 

“ Keksekca  ? ” 

Those  of  our  readers  who  might  be  tempted  to  see 
in  this  remark  of  Gavroche’s  to  the  baker  a Russian 
or  Polish  word,  or  one  of  the  savage  cries  which  the 
loways  or  the  Botocudos  hurl  at  each  other  across 
the  deserted  streams,  are  warned  that  this  is  a word 
which  they  (our  readers)  employ  daily,  and  which 
signifies,  qa’est  ce  que  e’est  que  cela  ? The  baker 
perfectly  comprehended,  and  replied,  — 

“ Why,  it  is  bread,  very  good  seconds  bread.” 

“ You  mean  black  bread,”  Gavroche  remarked,  with 
a calm  and  cold  disdain.  “ White  bread,  my  lad ; I 
stand  treat.” 

The  baker  could  not  refrain  from  smiling,  and 
while  cutting  some  white  bread  gazed  at  them  in  a 
compassionate  way  which  offended  Gavroche. 

“ Well,  baker’s  man,”  he  said,  “ what  is  there  about 
us  that  you  measure  us  in  that  way  ? ” 


GAVROCHE  TO  THE  RESCUE. 


195 


When  the  bread  was  cut,  the  baker  put  the  sou  in 
the  till,  and  Gavroche  said  to  the  two  boys,  — 

“ Grub  away.” 

The  boys  looked  at  him  in  surprise,  and  Gavroche 
burst  into  a laugh. 

“ Oh,  yes,  that ’s  true,  they  don’t  understand  yet, 
they  are  so  little.” 

And  he  continued,  “ Eat.” 

At  the  same  time  he  gave  each  of  them  a lump  of 
bread.  Thinking  that  the  elder,  who  appeared  to 
him  more  worthy  of  his  conversation,  merited  some 
special  encouragement,  and  ought  to  have  any  hesita- 
tion about  satisfying  his  hunger  removed,  he  added, 
as  he  gave  him  the  larger  lump,  — 

“ Shove  that  into  your  gun.” 

There  was  one  piece  smaller  than  the  two  others, 
and  he  took  that  for  himself.  The  poor  boys,  Gav- 
roche included,  were  starving;  while  tearing  the 
bread  vsdth  their  teeth,  they  blocked  up  the  baker’s 
shop,  who,  now  that  he  was  paid,  looked  at  them 
angrily. 

“ Let  us  return  to  the  street,”  said  Gavi’oche. 

They  started  again  in  the  direction  of  the  Bastille  ; 
and  from  time  to  time  as  they  passed  lighted  shops, 
the  younger  boy  stopped  to  see  what  o’clock  it  was 
by  a leaden  watch  hung  round  his  neck  by  a string. 

“ Well,  he  is  a great  fool,”  said  Gavroche. 

Then  he  thoughtfully  growled  between  his  teeth, 
“No  matter,  if  I had  kids  of  my  own  I woidd  take 
more  care  of  them  than  that.” 

As  they  were  finishing  their  bread,  they  reached 
the  comer  of  that  gloomy  Rue  de  Ballet  at  the  end 


196 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


of  which  the  low  and  hostile  wicket  of  La  Force  is 
visible. 

“ Hilloh,  is  that  you,  Gavroche  ? ” some  one  said. 

“ Hilloh,  is  that  you,  Montparnasse  ? ” said  Gav- 
roche. 

It  was  a man  who  accosted  Gavroche,  no  other 
than  Montparnasse  disguised  with  blue  spectacles, 
but  Gavroche  was  able  to  recognize  him. 

“ My  eye  ! ” Gavroche  went  on,  “ you  have  a skin 
of  the  color  of  a linseed  poultice  and  blue  spectacles 
like  a doctor.  That ’s  your  style,  on  the  word  of  an 
old  man  ! ” 

“ Silence,”  said  Montparnasse,  “ not  so  loud ; ” and 
he  quickly  dragged  Gavroche  out  of  the  light  of  the 
shops.  The  two  little  boys  followed  mechanically, 
holding  each  other  by  the  hand.  When  they  were 
under  the  black  arch  of  a gateway,  protected  from 
eyes  and  rain,  Montparnasse  remarked,  — 

“ Do  you  know  where  I am  going  ? ” 

“ To  the  abbey  of  Go-up-with-regret  ” (the  scaffold), 
said  Gavroche. 

“ Joker ! ” 

And  Montparnasse  added,  — 

“ I am  going  to  meet  Babet.” 

“ Ah !”  said  Gavroche,  “ her  name  is  Babet,  is  it  ?” 

JMontparnasse  lowered  his  voice,  — 

“ It  is  not  a she,  but  a he.” 

“ I thought  he  was  buckled  up.” 

“He  has  unfastened  the  buckle,”  Montparnasse 
replied. 

And  he  hurriedly  told  the  boy  that  on  that  very 
morning  Babet,  while  being  removed  to  the  Con- 


GAVROCHE  TO  THE  RESCUE. 


197 


ciergerie,  escaped  by  turning  to  the  left  instead  of 
the  right  in  the  “ police-office'  passage.” 

Gavroche  admired  his  skill. 

“ What  a dentist ! ” said  he. 

Montparnasse  added  a few  details  about  Babet’s 
escape,  and  ended  with,  “ Oh,  that  is  not  all.” 

Gavroche,  while  talking,  had  seized  a cane  which 
Montparnasse  held  in  his  hand;  he  mechanically 
pulled  at  the  upper  part,  and  a dagger  blade  became 
visible. 

“ Ah  ! ” he  said  as  he  quickly  thrust  it  back,  “you 
have  brought  your  gendarme  with  you  disguised  as  a 
civilian.” 

jNIontparnasse  winked. 

“The  deuce!  ” Gavroche  continued,  “are  you  going 
to  have  a fight  with  some  one  ? ” 

“ There ’s  no  knowing,”  Montparnasse  answered 
carelessly ; “ it ’s  always  as  well  to  have  a pin  about 
you.” 

Gavroche  pressed  him. 

“ What  are  you  going  to  do  to-night  ? ” 

jMontparnasse  again  became  serious,  and  said, 
mincing  his  words,  — 

“ Some  things.” 

And  he  suddenly  changed  the  conversation. 

“ By  the  bye  — ” 

“What?” 

“Something  that  happened  the  other  day.  Just 
fancy.  I meet  a bourgeois,  and  he  makes  me  a 
present  of  a sermon,  and  a purse.  I put  it  in  my 
pocket,  a moment  later  I feel  for  it,  and  there  was 
nothing  there.” 


198 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL 


“ Only  the  sennon,”  said  Gavroche. 

“ But  where  are  you’ going  now?  ” Montparnasse 
continued. 

Gavroche  pointed  to  his  two  proteges,  and  said,  — - 

“ I am  going  to  put  these  two  children  to  bed.” 

“ Where  ? ” 

“ At  my  house.” 

“ Have  you  a lodging  ? ” 

‘‘  Yes.” 

“ Where  ? ” 

“ Inside  the  elephant,”  said  Gavroche. 

Montparnasse,  though  naturally  not  easy  to  as- 
tonish, could  not  refrain  from  the  exclamation,  — 

“ Inside  the  elephant  ? ” 

“ Well,  yes,  kekcaa  ? ” 

This  is  another  word  belonging  to  the  language 
which  nobody  reads  and  everybody  speaks  ; kekcaa 
signifies,  qiC est-ce-que  cela  a ? The  gamin’s  profound 
remark  brought  jSIoutparnasse  back  to  calmness  and 
good  sense  : he  seemed  to  entertain  a better  opinion 
of  Gavroche’s  lodgings. 

“ Ah,  yes,”  he  said,  “ the  ‘ elephant.’  Are  you 
comfortable  there  ? ” 

“Very,”  Gavroche  replied.  “Most  comfortable. 
There  are  no  draughts  as  there  are  under  the  bridges.” 

“ How  do  you  get  in  ? Is  there  a hole  ? ” 

Of  course  there  is,  but  you  have  no  need  to  men- 
tion it ; it ’s  between  the  front  legs,  and  the  police- 
spies  don’t  know  it.” 

“And  you  climb  in  ? yes,  I understand.” 

“ A turn  of  the  hand,  cric  crac,  it ’s  done  ; and 
there ’s  no  one  to  be  seen.” 


GAVROCHE  TO  THE  RESCUE. 


199 


After  a pause  Gavroche  added,  — 

“ I shall  have  a ladder  for  these  young  ones.” 

jNIontpai’nasse  burst  into  a laugh. 

“ Where  the  de^'il  did  you  pick  up  those  kids  ? ” 

“ A barber  made  me  a present  of  them.” 

In  the  mean  while  Montparnasse  had  become 
pensive. 

“T’ou  recognized  me  very  easily,”  he  said. 

He  took  from  his  pocket  two  small  objects,  which 
were  quills  wrapped  in  cotton,  and  thrust  one  into 
each  nostril ; they  made  him  quite  a different  nose. 

“ That  changes  you,”  said  Gavroche  ; “ you  are 
not  so  ugly  now,  and  you  ought  to  keep  them  in  for 
good.” 

INIontparnasse  was  a handsome  fellow,  but  Gav- 
roche was  fond  of  a joke. 

“ Without  any  humbug,”  Montparnasse  asked ; 
“ what  do  you  think  of  me  now  ? ” 

It  was  also  a different  sound  of  voice  : in  a second 
Montparnasse  had  become  unrecognizable. 

“ Oh  ! play  Porrichinelle  for  us  ! ” Gavroche 
exclaimed. 

The  two  lads,  who  had  heard  nothing  up  to  this 
moment,  engaged  as  they  were  themselves  in  thrusting 
their  fingers  up  their  noses,  drew  nearer  on  hearing 
this  name,  and  gazed  at  hlontparnasse  with  a begin- 
ning of  joy  and  admiration.  Unhappily  Montparnasse 
was  in  no  humor  for  jesting ; he  laid  his  hand  on 
Gavroche’s  shoulder,  and  sai’d,  with  a stress  on  each 
word,  — 

“ Listen  to  what  I tell  you,  boy  ; if  I were  on  the 
spot,  with  my  dog,  my  knife,  and  my  wife,  and  you 


200 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


■were  to  oflFer  me  ten  double  sous  I would  not  refuse 
to  work,  but  we  are  not  at  Mardi  Gras.”  ^ 

This  strange  sentence  produced  a singular  effect 
ou  the  gamin;  he  turned  around  sharply,  looked  with 
his  little  bright  eyes  all  around,  and  noticed  a few 
yards  off  a policeman  with  his  back  turned  to  them. 
Gavroclie  let  an  “ all-right  ” slip  from  him,  which  he 
at  once  repressed,  and  shook  Montparnasse’s  hand. 

“ Well,  good-night,”  he  said ; “ I am  off  to  my 
elephant  with  my  brats.  Should  you  happen  to 
want  me  any  night  you  ’ll  find  me  there.  I lodge  in 
the  entresol,  and  there ’s  no  porter ; ask  for  JMonsieur 
Gavroche.” 

“ All  right,”  said  Montparnasse. 

And  they  parted,  Montparnasse  going  toward  the 
Grhve,  and  Gavroche  toward  the  Bastille.  The 
youngest  boy,  dragged  on  by  his  brother,  whom 
Gavroche  dragged  along  in  his  turn,  looked  round 
several  times  to  watch  “ Porrichinelle  ” go  away. 

The  enigmatical  sentence  by  which  IMontparnasse 
informed  Gavroche  of  the  presence  of  the  policeman 
contained  no  other  talisman  but  the  sound  dig  re- 
peated five  or  six  times  under  various  forms.  This 
syllable,  not  pronounced  separately,  but  artistically 
mingled  with  the  words  of  a sentence,  means, 
“ Take  care,  we  cannot  speak  freely.”  There  was  also 
in  Montparnasse’s  remark  a literary  beauty  which 

escaped  Gavroche’s  notice,  that  is,  mon  dogiie,  ma 

% 

^ ficoute  ce  que  je  te  dis,  garqon,  si  j’etais  sur  la  place,  avec 
mon  dogue,  ma  dague,  et  ma  digue,  et  si  vous  me  prodiguiez 
dix  gros  sous,  je  ne  refuserais  pas  d’y  goupiuer,  mais  nous  ne 
sommes  pas  le  Mardi  Gras. 


GAVROCHE  TO  THE  RESCUE. 


201 


dague,  et  ma  digue,  — a phrase  of  the  Tenij)le  slang 
greatly  in  use  among  the  merry-andrews  and  queues 
rouges  of  the  great  age  in  whieh  Molifere  wrote  and 
Callot  designed. 

Twenty  years  back  there  might  have  been  seen  in 
the  southeastern  corner  of  the  square  of  the  Bastille 
near  the  canal  dock,  dug  in  the  old  moat  of  the 
citadel-prison,  a quaint  monument,  which  has  already 
been  eftaced  from  the  memory  of  Parisians,  and 
which  should  have  left  some  trace,  as  it  was  an  idea 
of  the  “ Member  of  the  Institute,  Commander-in- 
Chief  of  the  army  of  Egypt.”  We  say  monument, 
though  it  was  only  a plaster  cast;  but  this  cast  itself, 
a prodigious  sketch,  the  grand  corpse  of  a Napoleonic 
idea  which  two  or  three  successive  puffs  of  wind 
carried  away  each  time  farther  from  us,  had  become 
historic,  and  assumed  something  definitive,  which 
formed  a contrast  with  its  temporary  a2')pearance. 
It  was  an  elephant,  forty  feet  high,  constructed  of 
carpentry  and  masonry,  bearing  on  its  back  a castle 
which  resembled  a house,  once  painted  green  by 
some  plasterer,  and  now  painted  black  by  the  heav- 
ens, the  rain,  and  time.  In  this  deserted  and  un- 
covered corner  of  the  square  the  wide  forehead  of 
the  colossus,  its  trunk,  its  tusks,  its  castle,  its  enor- 
mous back,  and  its  four  feet  like  columns,  produced 
at  night  upon  the  starlit  sky  a surprising  and  terrible 
outline.  No  one  knew  what  it  meant,  and  it  seemed 
a sort  of  symbol  of  the  popular  strength.  It  was 
gloomy,  enigmatical,  and  immense ; it  looked  like  a 
powerful  phantom  visible  and  erect  by  the  side  of 
the  invisible  spectre  of  the  Bastille.  Few  strangers 


202 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


visited  this  edifice,  and  no  passer-by  looked  at  it. 
It  was  falling  in  ruins,  and  each  season  plaster 
becoming  detached  from  its  flanks,  made  horrible 
wounds  upon  it.  The  “ Ediles,”  as  they  were  called 
in  the  fashionable  slang,  had  forgotten  it  since  1814. 
It  stood  there  in  its  corner,  gloomy,  sickly,  crumbling 
away,  surrounded  by  rotting  palings,  which  were 
sullied  every  moment  by  drunken  drivers.  There 
were  yawning  cracks  in  its  stomach,  a lath  issued 
from  its  tail,  and  tall  grass  grew  between  its  legs ; 
and  as  the  level  of  the  square  had  risen  during  the 
last  thirty  years  through  that  slow  and  continuous 
movement  which  insensibly  elevates  the  soil  of  great 
cities,  it  was  in  a hollow,  and  it  seemed  as  if  the 
earth  were  gi^'ing  way  beneath  it.  It  was  unclean, 
despised,  repulsive,  and  superb ; ugly  in  the  eyes  of 
cits,  but  melancholy  in  the  eyes  of  the  thinker.  It 
had  something  about  it  of  the  ordure  which  is 
swept  away,  and  something  of  the  majesty  which  is 
decapitated. 

As  we  said,  at  night  its  appearance  changed ; for 
night  is  the  real  medium  of  everything  which  is 
shadow.  So  soon  as  twilight  set  in  the  old  elephant 
was  transfigured ; and  it  assumed  a placid  and  re- 
doubtable appearance  in  the  formidable  serenity  of 
the  darkness.  As  it  belonged  to  the  past  it  belonged 
to  night,  and  this  obscurity  suited  its  grandeur.  This 
monument,  rude,  broad,  heavy,  rough,  austere,  and 
almost  shapeless,  but  most  assuredly  majestic,  and 
imprinted  with  a species  of  magnificent  and  savage 
gravity,  has  disappeared  to  allow  the  sort  of  gigantic 
stove  adorned  with  its  pipe  to  reign  in  peace,  which 


GAVKOCHE  TO  THE  EESCUE. 


203 


was  substituted,  for  the  frowning  fortaliee  with  its 
nine  towers  much  in  the  same  way  as  the  bourgeoisie 
are  substituted  for  feudalism.  It  is  very  simple  that 
a stove  should  be  the  symbol  of  an  epoch  in  which 
a copper  contains  the  power.  This  period  will  pass 
away  ; it  is  already  passing  away.  People  are  begin- 
ning to  understand  that  if  there  may  be  strength  in 
a boiler  there  can  only  be  power  in  a brain ; in  other 
words,  that  what  leads  and  carries  away  the  world 
is  not  locomotives,  but  ideas.  Attach  locomotives  to 
ideas,  and  then  it  is  all  right ; but  do  not  take  the 
horse  for  the  rider. 

However  this  may  be,  to  return  to  the  Bastille 
square,  the  architect  of  the  elephant  managed  to  pro- 
duce something  grand  with  plaster,  while  the  archi- 
tect of  the  stove-pipe  has  succeeded  in  making  some- 
thing little  out  of  bronze.  This  stove-pipe,  which 
was  christened  a sonorous  name  and  called  the 
Column  of  July,  this  spoiled  monument  of  an  abortive 
revolution,  was  still  wrapped  up,  in  1832,  in  an  im- 
mense sheet  of  carpentry-work,  — which  we  regret  for 
our  paid,  — and  a vast  enclosure  of  planks,  which  com- 
pleted the  isolation  of  the  elephant.  It  was  to  this 
corner  of  this  square,  which  was  scarce  lighted  by 
the  reflection  of  a distant  oil-lamp,  that  the  gamin 
led  the  t\vo  urchins. 

(Allow  us  to  interrupt  our  narrative  here,  and  re- 
mind our  readers  that  we  are  recording  the  simple 
truth  ; and  that  twenty  years  ago  a boy,  who  was 
caught  sleeping  in  the  inside  of  the  elephant  of  the* 
Bastille,  was  brought  before  the  police  on  the  charge 
of  vagabondage  and  breaking  a public  monument.) 


204 


THE  HUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


On  coming  near  the  colossus,  Gavroche  understood 
the  effect  'which  the  infinitely  great  may  produce  on 
the  infinitely  little,  and  said,  — 

“ Don’t  be  frightened,  brats.” 

Then  he  went  through  a hole  in  the  palings  into 
the  ground  round  the  elephant,  and  helped  the  chil- 
dren to  pass  through  the  breach.  The  lads,  a little 
frightened,  followed  Gavroche  without  a word,  and 
confided  in  this  little  Providence  in  rags  who  had 
given  them  bread  and  promised  them  a bed.  A lad- 
der, employed  by  workmen  at  the  column  by  day, 
was  lying  along  the  palings  ; Gavroche  raised  it  with 
singular  vigor,  and  placed  it  against  one  of  the  ele- 
phant’s fore  legs.  At  the  point  where  the  ladder 
ended,  a sort  of  black  hole  could  be  distinguislied  in 
the  belly  of  the  colossus.  Gavroche  pointed  out  the 
ladder  and  the  hole  to  his  guests,  and  said,  “ Go  up, 
and  go  in.”  The  two  little  boys  looked  at  each 
other  in  terror. 

“ You  are  frightened,  kids  ! ” Ga'vroche  exclaimed, 
and  added,  “ you  shall  see.” 

He  clung  round  the  elephant’s  ■wrinkled  foot,  and 
in  a twinkling,  without  deigning  to  employ  the  lad- 
dei’,  he  reached  the  hole.  He  went  in  like  a lizard 
gliding  into  a crevice,  and  a moment  after  the  boys 
saw  his  head  vaguely  ajjpear,  like  a white  livid  form, 
on  the  edge  of  the  hole,  which  was  full  of  darkness. 

“ Well,”  he  cried,  “ come  up,  my  blessed  babes. 
You  will  see  how  snug  it  is.  Come  up,  you,”  he 
‘said  to  the  elder.  “ I will  hold  your  hand.” 

Tlie  little  boys  nudged  each  other,  for  the  gamin 
at  once  frightened  and  reassured  them ; and  then  it 


GAVROCHE  TO  THE  RESCUE. 


205 


was  raining  very  hard.  The  elder  boy  ventured,  and 
the  younger,  on  seeing  his  brother  ascending  and 
himself  left  alone  between  the  feet  of  this  great 
beast,  felt  greatly  inclined  to  cry,  but  did  not  dare. 
The  elder  climbed  up  the  rungs  of  the  ladder  in 
a very  tottering  way,  and  as  he  did  so  Gavroche 
encouraged  him  by  exclamations  of  a fencing-master 
to  his  pupils,  or  of  a muleteer  to  his  mules. 

“ Don ’t  be  frightened  ! That  is  it  — keep  on  mov- 
ing ; set  your  foot  there ; now,  your  hand  here  — 
bravo  ! ” 

And  when  he  was  within  reach  he  quickly  and 
powerfully  seized  him  by  the  arm,  and  drew  him 
to  him. 

“ Swallowed  ! ” he  said. 

The  boy  had  passed  through  the  crevice. 

“ Now,”  said  Ga\Toche,  “ wait  for  me.  Pray  sit 
down,  sir.” 

And  leaving  the  hole  in  the  same  way  as  he  had 
entered  it,  he  slid  down  the  elephant’s  leg  with  the 
agility  of  a monkey,  fell  on  his  feet  in  the  grass, 
seized  the  youngest  boy  round  the  waist  and  planted 
him  on  the  middle  of  the  ladder ; then  he  began 
ascending  behind  him,  shouting  to  the  elder  boy,  — 

“ I ’ll  push  him  and  you  ’ll  pull  him.” 

In  a second  the  little  fellow  was  pushed  up, 
dragged,  pulled,  and  drawn  through  the  hole  before 
he  knew  where  he  was  ; and  Gavroche,  entering  after 
him,  kicked  away  the  ladder,  which  fell  in  the  grass, 
and  clapped  his  hands  as  he  shouted,  “ There  we 
are  ! Long  live  General  Lafayette  ! ” This  explosion 
over,  he  added,  “ Brats,  you  are  in  my  house.” 


206 


THE  EUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


Gavroclie  was,  in  fact,  at  home.  Oh,  unexpected 
utility  of  tlie  useless  ! Oh,  charity  of  great  things  ! 
Oh,  goodness  of  the  giants  ! This  liuge  monument, 
wliich  had  contained  a thought  of  the  Emperor,  had 
become  the  lodging  of  a gamin.  The  brat  had  been 
accepted  and  sheltered  by  the  colossus.  The  cits 
in  their  Sunday  clothes  who  passed  by  the  elephant 
of  the  Bastille  were  prone  to  say,  as  they  measured 
it  with  a contemptuous  look  from  the  eyes  flush  with 
their  head.  Of  what  service  is  that  ? It  served  to 
save  from  cold,  from  frost,  from  damp  and  rain  ; to 
protect  from  the  winter  wind ; to  preserve  from 
sleeping  in  the  mud,  which  entails  fevei’,  and  from 
sleeping  in  the  snow,  which  causes  death,  a little 
fatherless  and  motherless  boy  without  bread,  clothes, 
or  shelter.  It  served  to  shelter  the  innocent  boy 
whom  society  repulsed.  It  served  to  diminish  the 
public  wrong.  It  was  a lair  opened  to  him  against 
Avhom  all  doors  were  closed.  It  seemed  as  if  the 
old  wretched  mastodon,  attacked  by  vermin  and 
oblivion,  covered  with  warts,  mould,  and  ulcers, 
tottering,  crumbling,  abandoned,  and  condemned,  — a 
species  of  colossal  mendicant  asking  in  vain  the  alms 
of  a benevolent  glance  in  the  midst  of  the  highway,  — 
had  taken  pity  on  this  other  beggar,  the  poor  pj’^gmy 
who  walked  about  without  shoes  on  his  feet,  without 
a ceiling  over  his  head,  blowing  his  Angers,  dressed 
in  rags,  and  supporting  life  on  what  was  thrown 
away.  This  is  of  what  use  the  elephant  of  the  Bas- 
tille was ; and  this  idea  of  Napoleon,  disdained  by 
men,  had  been  taken  up  again  by  God.  What  had 
only  been  illustrious  had  become  august.  The  Em- 


GAVROCHE  TO  THE  RESCUE. 


207 


pcror  would  have  needed,  in  order  to  realize  what 
he  meditated,  porphyry,  bronze,  iron,  gold,  and  mar- 
ble ; but  for  God  the  old  collection  of  j^lanks,  beams, 
and  plaster  was  sufficient.  The  Emperor  had  had  a 
dream  of  genius.  In  this  Titanic  elephant,  armed, 
prodigious,  raising  its  trunk,  and  spouting  all  around 
glad  and  living  waters,  he  wished  to  incarnate  the 
people  ; and  God  had  made  a greater  thing  of  it, 
for  lie  lodged  a child  in  it. 

The  hole  by  which  Gavroche  entered  was  a breach 
scarce  visible  from  the  outside,  as  it  was  concealed, 
as  we  said,  under  the  elephant’s  belly,  and  so  narrow 
that  only  cats  and  boys  could  pass  through  it. 

“ Let  us  begin,”  said  Gavroche,  “ by  telling  the 
porter  that  we  are  not  at  home.” 

And  plunging  into  the  darkness  with  certainty 
like  a man  who  knows  every  corner  of  the  room, 
he  took  a plank  and  stopped  uji  the  hole.  Gavroche 
plunged  again  into  the  darkness  ; the  children  hoard 
the  fizzing  of  a match  dipped  into  the  bottle  of 
phosphorus,  — for  lucifer  matches  did  not  yet  exist, 
and  the  Fumade  fire-producer  represented  progress 
at  that  day.  A sudden  light  made  them  wink. 
Gavroche  had  lit  one  of  those  bits  of  string  dipped 
in  pitch  which  are  called  “ cellar  rats  ; ” and  this 
thing,  which  smoked  more  than  it  illumined,  ren- 
dered the  inside  of  the  elephant  indistinctly  visible. 
Gavroche’s  two  guests  looked  around  them,  and  had 
much  such  a feeling  as  any  one  would  have  if  shut 
up  in  the  Heidelberg  tun,  or,  better  still,  what  Jonas 
must  have  experienced  in  the  biblical  belly  of  the 
whale.  An  entire  gigantic  skeleton  was  \usible  to 


208 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


them  and  enveloped  them  ; above  their  heads  a long 
brovn  beam,  from  which  sprang  at  regular  distances 
massive  cross-bars,  represented  the  spine  with  the 
ribs ; stalactites  of  plaster  hung  down  like  viscera, 
and  vast  spider  webs  formed  from  one  side  to  the 
other  dusty  diaphragms.  Here  and  there  in  corners 
could  be  seen  large  black  spots  which,  seemed  alive, 
and  changed  places  rapidly  with  a quick  and  startled 
movement.  The  pieces  which  had  fallen  from  the 
elephant’s  back  on  its  belly  had  filled  up  the  con- 
caHty,  so  that  it  was  possible  to  walk  on  it  as  on 
a flooring.  The  youngest  lad  nudged  his  brother 
and  said,  — 

“ It  is  black.” 

This  remark  made  Gavroche  cry  out,  for  the  petri- 
fied air  of  the  two  lads  rendered  a check  necessary. 

“ What ’s  that  you  give  me  ? ” he  shouted  ; “ do 
you  gab  ? You  have  dislikes,  eh  ! I suppose  you 
want  the  Tuilcries  ? Are  you  brutes  ? Tell  me,  but 
I warn  you  that  I do  not  belong  to  the  regiment  of 
spoonies.  Weil,  to  hear  you  talk  one  would  think 
that  your  father  was  a prince  of  the  blood.” 

A little  roughness  is  good  in  terror,  for  it  reas- 
sures ; the  two  children  drew  nearer  to  Gavroche, 
who,  affected  paternally  by  this  confidence,  passed 
from  sternness  to  gentleness,  and  addressing  the 
younger  lad,  — 

“ Blockhead,”  he  said,  toning  down  the  insult 
with  a caressing  inflection  of  the  voice,  “ it  is  out- 
side that  it ’s  black.  Outside  it  rains,  aud  here  it 
does  not  rain ; outside  it  is  cold,  and  here  there  is 
uot  a breath  of  wind  ; outside  there  is  a heap  of 


GAVROCHE  TO  THE  RESCUE. 


209 


people,  and  here  tliere ’s  nobody  ; outside  there ’s  not 
even  the  moon,  and  here  there ’s  a candle,  the  deuce 
take  it  all ! ” 

The  two  lads  began  looking  round  the  apartment 
with  less  terror,  but  Gavroche  did  not  allow  them 
any  leisure  for  contemplation. 

“ Quick,’  he  said. 

And  he  thrust  them  toward  what  we  are  very 
happy  to  call  tlie  end  of  the  room,  where  his  bed 
was.  Gavi’oche’s  bed  was  perfect,  that  is  to  say, 
there  was  a mattress,  a coverlet,  and  an  alcove  with 
curtains.  The  mattress  was  a straw  mat,  and  the 
coverlet  was  a rather  wide  wrapper  of  coarse  gray 
wool,  very  warm,  and  nearly  new.  This  is  what  the 
alcove  was,  — three  long  props  were  driven  securely 
into  the  plaster  soil,  that  is  to  say,  the  elephant’s 
belly,  two  in  front  and  one  behind,  and  were  fas- 
tened by  a cord  at  the  top,  so  as  to  foi-m  a hollow 
pyramid.  These  props  supported  a grating  of  brass 
udre,  simply  laid  upon  them,  but  artistically  fastened 
with  iron  wire,  so  that  it  entirely  surrounded  the 
three  poles.  A row  of  large  stones  fastened  the 
lattice-work  down  to  the  ground,  so  that  nothing 
could  pass  ; and  this  lattice  was  merely  a piece  of 
the  brass-work  put  up  in  aviaries  in  menageries. 
Gavroche’s  bed  was  under  the  wire-work  as  in  a 
cage,  and  the  whole  resembled  an  Esquimaux’s  tent. 
Ga\Toche  moved  a few  of  the  stones  that  held 
down  the  lattice-work  in  front,  and  shouted  to  the 
lads,  — 

“ Now  then,  on  all  fours.” 

He  made  his  guests  enter  the  cage  cautiously, 

VOL.  IV.  14 


V 


210  THE  HUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 

tlien  went  in  after  them,  brought  the  stones  together 
again,  and  hermetically  closed  the  opening.  They 
lay  down  all  three  on  the  mat,  and  though  they  were 
all  so  short,  not  one  of  them  could  stand  upright  in 
the  alcove.  Gavroche  still  held  the  “cellar  rat”  in 
his  hand. 

“Now,”  he  said,  “to  roost;  I am  going  to  sup- 
press the  chandelier.” 

“What  is  that,  sir?  ” the  elder  of  the  lads  asked 
Gavroche,  pointing  to  the  brass  grating. 

“ That,”  said  Gavroche,  gravely,  “ is  on  account  of 
the  rats.  Go  to  roost ! ” 

Still  he  thought  himself  obliged  to  add  a few 
words  of  instruction  for  these  young  creatures,  and 
continued,  — 

“ It  comes  from  the  Jardin  des  Plantes,  and  is  em- 
ployed to  guard  ferocious  animals.  There  is  a whole 
store-house  full ; you  have  only  to  climb  over  a wall, 
crawl  through  a window,  and  pass  under  a door,  and 
you  can  have  as  much  as  you  like.” 

While  speaking  he  wrapped  up  the  little  boy  in 
the  blanket,  who  murmured,  — 

“ Oh,  that  is  nice,  it ’s  so  warm ! ” 

Gavroche  took  a glance  of  satisfaction  at  the 
coverlet. 

“ That  also  comes  from  the  Jardin  des  Plantes,” 
he  said,  “ I took  it  from  the  monkeys.” 

And  pointing  out  to  the  elder  one  the  straw  mat 
on  which  he  was  lying,  which  was  very  thick  and 
admirably  made,  he  added,  — 

“ That  belonged  to  the  giraffe.” 

After  a pause  he  continued,  — 


GAVKOCHE  TO  THE  RESCUE. 


211 


“ The  beasts  had  all  those  things,  and  I took  them 
from  them ; they  were  not  at  all  angry,  for  I told 
them  that  I wanted  them  for  the  elephant.” 

There  was  another  interval  of  silence,  after  which 
he  continued,  “ You  climb  over  walls  and  snap  your 
fingers  at  the  Government.” 

The  two  lads  gazed  wdth  a timid  and  stupefied 
respect  at  this  intrepid  and  inventive  being,  a vaga- 
bond like  them,  isolated  like  them,  weak  like  them, 
who  had  something  admirable  and  omnipotent  about 
him,  who  appeared  to  them  supernatural,  and  whose 
face  was  composed  of  all  the  grimaces  of  an  old 
mountebank,  mingled  with  the  simplest  and  most 
charming  smile. 

“ Then,  sir,”  the  elder  lad  said  timidly,  “ you  are 
not  afraid  of  the  policemen  ? ” 

Gavroche  limited  himself  to  answering,  — 

“Brat ! we  don’t  say  ‘policemen,’  we  say  ‘slops.’” 
The  younger  had  his  eyes  wide  open,  but  said 
nothing ; as  he  was  at  the  edge  of  the  mat,  the 
elder  being  in  the  centre,  Gavroche  tucked  in  the 
coverlet  around  him  as  a mother  would  have  done, 
and  raised  the  mat  under  his  head  with  old  rags,  so 
as  to  make  him  a pillow.  Then  he  turned  to  the 
elder  boy,  — • 

“ Well ! it  is  jolly  here,  eh  ? ” 

“ Oh,  yes ! ” the  lad  answered,  as  he  looked  at 
Gavroche  with  the  expression  of  a saved  angel. 

The  two  poor  little  fellows,  who  Avere  wet  through, 
began  to  grow  warm  again. 

“ By  the  bye,”  Gavroche  went  on,  “ why  were  you 
blubbering  ? ” 


212 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


And  pointing  to  the  younger  boy  he  said  to  his 
brother,  — 

“ A baby  like  that,  I don’t  say  no  ; but  for  a 
tall  chap  like  you  to  cry  is  idiotic,  you  look  like  a 
calf.” 

“ Well,  sir,”  the  lad  said,  “ we  hadn’t  any  lodging 
to  go  to.” 

“ Brat,”  Gavroche  remarked,  “ we  don’t  say  ‘ lodg- 
ing,’ but  “ crib.’  ” 

“And  then  we  felt  afraid  of  being  all  alone  like 
that  in  the  night.” 

“ We  don’t  say  ‘ night,’  but  ‘ sorgue.’  ” 

“ Thank  you,  sir,”  said  the  boy. 

“ Listen  to  me,”  Gavroche  went  on.  “ You  must 
never  blubber  for  anything.  I ’ll  take  care  of  you, 
and  you  ’ll  see  what  fun  we  shall  have.  In  summer 
we  ’ll  go  to  the  Glacihre  with  Navet,  a pal  of  mine  ; 
we  ’ll  bathe  in  the  dock,  and  run  about  naked  on  the 
timber  floats  in  front  of  the  bridge  of  Austerlitz,  for 
that  makes  the  washerwomen  rage.  They  yell,  they 
kick,  and.  Lord ! if  you  only  knew  how  ridiculous 
they  are  ! We’ll  go  and  see  the  skeleton  man;  he ’s 
alive  at  the  Champs  Elys^es,  and  the  cove  is  as  thin 
as  blazes.  And  then  I will  take  you  to  the  play,  and 
let  you  see  Frederick  Lemaitre  ; I get  tickets,  for  I 
know  some  actors,  and  even  performed  myself  once  in 
a piece.  We  were  a lot  of  boys  who  ran  about  under 
a canvas,  and  that  made  the  sea.  I will  get  you  an 
engagement  at  my  theatre.  AVe  will  go  and  see  the 
savages,  but  they  ain’t  real  savages,  they  wear  pink 
fleshing  which  forms  creases,  and  you  can  see  repairs 
made  at  their  elbows  with  white  tliread.  After  that 


GAVKOCHE  TO  THE  RESCUE. 


213 


we  will  go  to  the  Opera,  and  enter  with  the  claquers. 
The  claque  at  the  Opera  is  very  well  selected,  though 
I would  n’t  care  to  be  seen  with  the  claque  on  the 
boulevard.  At  the  Opera,  just  fancy,  they  ’re  people 
who  pay  their  twenty  sous,  but  they  are  asses,  and 
we  call  them  dish-clouts.  And  then  we  will  go  and 
see  a man  guillotined,  and  I ’ll  point  out  the  execu- 
tioner to  you.  Monsieur  Sanson  ; he  lives  in  the  Rue 
de  iMarais,  and  he ’s  got  a letter-box  at  his  door. 
Ah  ! we  shall  amuse  ourselves  famously.” 

At  this  moment  a drop  of  pitch  fell  on  Gavroche’s 
hand,  and  recalled  him  to  the  realities  of  life. 

“ The  devil,”  he  said,  “ the  match  is  wearing  out. 
Pay  attention ! I can’t  afford  more  than  a sou  a 
month  for  lighting,  and  when  people  go  to  bed  they 
are  expected  to  sleep.  We  have  n’t  the  time  to  read 
M.  Paul  de  Kock’s  romances.  Besides,  the  light 
might  pass  through  the  crevices  of  the  gate,  and 
the  slops  might  see  it.” 

“And  then,”  timidly  observed  the  elder  lad,  who 
alone  dared  to  speak  to  Gavroche  and  answer  him, 
“ a spark  might  fall  on  the  straw,  and  we  must  be 
careful  not  to  set  the  house  on  fire.” 

“ You  must  n’t  say  ‘ set  the  house  on  fire,’  ” 
Gavroche  remarked,  “ but  ' blaze  the  crib.’  ” 

The  storm  grew  more  furious,  and  through  the 
thunder-peals  the  rain  could  be  heard  pattering  on 
the  back  of  the  colossus. 

“ The  rain ’s  sold  ! ” said  GavToche.  “ I like  to 
hear  the  eontehts  of  the  water-bottle  running  down 
the  legs  of  the  house.  Winter ’s  an  ass ; it  loses  its 
time,  it  loses  its  trouble ; it  can’t  drown  us,  and  so 


214 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


that  is  the  reason  why  the  old  water-carrier  is  so 
growling  with  us.” 

This  allusion  to  the  thunder,  whose  consequences 
Gavroche,  in  his  quality  as  a nineteenth-century  phi- 
losopher, accepted,  was  followed  by  a lengthened 
flash,  so  dazzling  that  a portion  of  it  passed  through 
the  hole  in  the  elephant’s  belly.  Almost  at  the  same 
moment  the  thunder  roared,  and  very  furiously.  The 
two  little  boys  uttered  a cry,  and  rose  so  quickly  that 
the  brass  grating  was  almost  thrown  down ; but 
Gavroche  turned  toward  them  his  bold  face,  and 
profited  by  the  thunder-clap  to  burst  into  a laugh. 

“ Be  calm,  children,  and  do  not  upset  the  edifice. 
That ’s  fine  thunder  of  the  right  sort,  and  it  is  n’t  like 
that  humbugging  lightning.  It ’s  almost  as  fine  as  at 
the  ‘ Ambigu.’  ” 

This  said,  he  restored  order  in  the  grating,  softly 
pushed  tlic  two  lads  on  to  the  bed,  pressed  their 
knees  to  make  them  lie  full  length,  and  cried, — 

“ Since  le  Bon  Dieu  is  lighting  his  candle,  I can 
put  out  mine.  Children,  my  young  humans,  we  must 
sleep,  for  it ’s  very  bad  not  to  sleep.  It  makes  you 
stink  in  the  throat,  as  people  say  in  fashionable 
society.  Wrap  yourselves  Avell  up  in  the  blanket, 
for  I am  going  to  put  the  light  out ; are  you  all 
right  ? ” 

“ Yes,”  said  the  elder  boy,  “ I ’m  all  right,  and  feel 
as  if  I had  a feather  pillow  under  my  head.” 

“You  mustn’t  say  ‘head,’”  Gavroche  cried,  “but 
‘ nut.’  ” 

The  two  lads  crept  close  together ; Gavroche  made 
them  all  right  on  the  mat,  and  pulled  the  blanket  up 


GAVEOCHE  TO  THE  RESCUE. 


215 


to  their  ears ; then  he  repeated  for  the  tliird  time  in 
the  hieratic  language,  “ Roost.” 

And  he  blew  out  the  rope’s  end.  The  light  was 
scarce  extinguished  ere  a singular  trembling  began  to 
shake  the  trellis-work  under  which  the  three  children 
were  lying.  It  was  a multitude  of  dull  rubbings 
which  produced  a metallic  sound,  as  if  claws  and 
teeth  were  assailing  the  copper  wire,  and  this  was 
accompanied  by  all  sorts  of  little  shrill  cries.  The 
little  boy  of  five  years  of  age,  hearing  this  noise  above 
his  head,  and  chilled  with  terror,  nudged  his  elder 
brother,  but  he  was  “ roosting  ” already,  as  Gavroche 
had  ordered  him ; then  the  little  one,  unable  to  hold 
out  any  longer  for  fright,  dared  to  address  Gavroche-, 
but  in  a very  low  voice  and  holding  his  breath. 
“Sir?” 

“ Hill  oh  ! ” said  Gavroche,  who  had  just  closed 
his  eyes. 

“ What  is  that  ? ” 

“ It ’s  the  rats,”  Gavroche  answered. 

And  he  laid  his  head  again  on  the  mat.  The  rats, 
which,  were  really  by  thousands  in  the  elephant’s  car- 
cass, and  were  the  live  black  spots  to  which  we  have 
alluded,  had  been  held  in  check  by  the  flame  of  the 
link  so  long  as  it  was  alight;  but  as  soon  as  this  cav- 
ern, which  was,  so  to  speak,  their  city,  had  been 
restored  to  night,  sniffing  what  that  famous  story- 
teller, Perrault,  calls  “ fresh  meat,”  they  rushed  in 
bands  to  Gavroche’s  tent,  climbed  to  the  top,  and 
were  biting  the  meshes,  as  if  trying  to  enter  this 
novel  sort  of  trap.  In  the  mean  while  the  little  one 
did  not  sleep. 


216 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


“ Sir  ? ” he  began  again. 

“ Well  ? ” Gavroche  asked. 

“ What  are  rats  ? ” 

“ They  ’re  mice.” 

This  explanation  slightly  reassured  the  child, 
for  he  had  seen  white  mice  in  his  life,  and  had 
not  been  afraid  of  them ; still,  he  raised  his  voice 
again. 

“ Sir?” 

“ Well  ? ” Gavroche  repeated. 

“ Why  don’t  you  keep  a cat  ? ” 

“ I had  one,”  Gavroche  answered ; “ I brought  it 
here,  but  they  ate  it  for  me.” 

This  second  explanation  undid  the  work  of  the 
first,  and  the  child  began  trembling  once  more ; the 
dialogue  between  him  and  Gavroche  was  resumed  for 
the  fourth  time. 

‘‘Sir?” 

“Well?” 

“ What  was  eaten  ? ” 

“ The  cat.” 

“ What  ate  the  cat  ? ” 

“ The  rats.” 

“ The  mice  ? ” 

“ Yes,  the  rats.” 

The  child,  terrified  by  these  mice  which  ate  the 
cats,  continued,  — 

“ Would  those  mice  eat  us  ? ” 

“ Oh,  Lord,  yes  ! ” Gavroche  said. 

The  child’s  terror  was  at  its  height,  but  Gavroche 
added,  — • 

“Don’t  be  frightened,  they  can’t  get  in.  And 


GAVROCHE  TO  THE  RESCUE. 


217 


then,  I am  here.  Stay ; take  my  hand,  hold  your 
tongue,  and  sleep.” 

Gavroche  at  the  same  time  took  the  boy’s  hand 
across  his  brother,  and  the  child  pressed  the  hand 
against  his  body  and  felt  reassured  ; for  courage  and 
strength  have  mysterious  communications.  Silence 
had  set  in  again  around  them,  the  sound  of  voices 
had  startled  and  driven  away  the  rats ; and  when 
they  returned  a few  minutes  later  and  furiously  at- 
tacked, the  three  boys,  plunged  in  sleep,  heard  noth- 
ing more.  The  night  hours  passed  away ; darkness 
covered  the  immense  Bastille  Square.  A winter 
wind,  which  was  mingled  with  the  rain,  blew  in 
gusts.  The  patrols  examined  doors,  enclosures,  and 
dark  corners,  and,  while  searching  for  nocturnal  vaga- 
bonds, passed  silently  before  the  elephant ; the  mon- 
ster, erect  and  motionless,  with  its  eyes  open  in  the 
darkness,  seemed  to  be  dreaming,  as  if  satisfied  at  its 
good  deed,  and  sheltered  from  the  sky  and  from  man 
the  three  poor  sleeping  children.  In  order  to  under- 
stand what  is  going  to  follow,  it  must  be  remembered 
that  at  this  period  the  main-guard  of  the  Bastille 
was  situated  at  the  othei‘  end  of  the  square,  and  that 
what  took  place  near  the  elephant  could  neither  be 
prevented  nor  heard  by  the  sentry.  Toward  the  end 
of  the  hour  which  immediately  precedes  daybreak, 
a man  came  running  out  of  the  Rue  St.  Antoine, 
crossed  the  square,  went  round  the  great  enclos- 
ure of  the  Column  of  July,  and  slipped  through  the 
palings  under  the  elephant’s  belly.  If  any  light  had 
fallen  on  this  man,  it  might  have  been  guessed  from 
his  thoroughly  drenched  state  that  he  had  passed  the 


218 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


iiiglit  in  the  rain.  On  getting  under  the  elephant  he 
uttered  a peculiar  cry,  which  belongs  to  no  human 
language,  and  which  a parrot  alone  could  reproduce. 
He  repeated  twice  this  cry,  of  which  the  following 
orthography  scarce  supplies  any  idea,  “ Kirikikiou  ! ’ 
At  the  second  cry  a clear,  gay,  and  young  voice 
answered  from  the  elephant’s  belly,  “ Yes  ! ” Almost 
immediately  the  plank  that  closed  the  hole  was  re- 
moved, and  left  a passage  for  a lad,  who  slid  down 
the  elephant’s  leg  and  fell  at  the  man’s  feet.  It  was 
Gavroche,  and  the  man  was  Montparnasse.  As  for 
the  cry  of  “ Kirikikiou,”  it  was  doubtless  what  the 
lad  meant  to  say  by,  “ You  will  ask  for  Monsieur 
Gavroche.”  On  hearing  it,  he  jumped  up  with  a 
start,  crept  out  of  his  alcove  by  moving  the  grating  a 
little,  and  then  carefully  closing  it  again,  after  which 
he  opened  the  trap  and  went  down.  The  man  and 
the  child  silently  recognized  each  other  in  the  night, 
and  Montparnasse  confined  himself  to  saying,  — 

“ We  want  you,  come  and  give  us  a lift.” 

The  gamin  asked  for  no  other  explanation. 

‘‘  Here  I am,”  he  said. 

And  the  pair  proceeded  toward  the  Rue  St.  Antoine, 
whence  Montparnasse  had  come,  winding  rapidly 
through  the  long  file  of  market-carts  which  were 
coming  into  town  at  the  time.  The  gardeners,  lying 
on  their  wagons  among  their  salads  and  vegetables, 
half  asleep,  and  rolled  up  to  the  eyes  in  their  great- 
coats, owing  to  the  beating  rain,  did  not  even  look 
at  these  strange  passers-by. 


CHAPTER  III. 


I^rCIDENTS  OF  AN  ESCAPE. 

This  is  wliat  occurred  on  this  same  night  at  La 
Force.  An  escape  had  been  concerted  between 
Babet,  Brujon,  Gueulemer,  and  Th^nardier,  although 
Thenardier  was  iu  secret  confinement.  Babet  had 
managed  the  affair  on  his  own  account  during  the 
day,  as  we  heard  from  Montparnasse’s  narrative  to 
Gavroche,  and  Montparnasse  was  to  help  them  out- 
side. Brujon,  while  spending  a month  in  a punish- 
ment room,  had  time,  first,  to  make  a rope,  and, 
secondly,  to  ripen  a plan.  Formerly,  these  severe 
places,  in  which  prison  discipline  leaves  the  prisoner  to 
himself,  were  composed  of  four  stone  walls,  a stone 
ceiling,  a brick  pavement,  a camp-bed,  a grated  sky- 
light, and  a gate  lined  with  iron,  and  were  called  dun- 
geons ; but  the  dungeon  was  considered  too  horrible, 
so  now  it  is  composed  of  an  iron  gate,  a grated  sky- 
light, a camp-bed,  a brick  pavement,  a stone  ceiling, 
four  stone  walls,  and  it  is  called  a “ punishment 
room.”  A little  daylight  is  visible  about  midday. 
The  inconvenience  of  these  rooms,  which,  as  we  see, 
are  not  dungeons,  is  to  leave  beings  to  think  who 
ought  to  be  set  to  work.  Brujon  therefore  reffected, 
and  he  left  the  punishment  room  with  a cord.  As 


220 


THE  HUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


lie  Avas  considered  very  dangerous  in  the  Charle- 
magne yard,  he  was  placed  in  the  Batinient  Neuf, 
and  the  first  thing  he  found  there  Avas  Guenleiner, 
the  second  a nail,  — Guenleiner,  that  is  to  say,  crime  ; 
and  a nail,  that  is  to  say,  liberty. 

Brujon,  of  Avhom  it  is  time  to  form  a complete  idea, 
was,  Avith  the  appearance  of  a delicate  complexion 
and  a deeply  premeditated  languor,  a polished,  intelli- 
gent robber,  who  possessed  a caressing  look  and  an 
atrocious  smile.  His  look  was  the  result  of  his  will, 
and  his  smile  the  result  of  his  nature.  His  first 
studies  in  his  art  were  directed  to  roofs ; and  he  had 
given  a great  impulse  to  the  trade  of  lead-stealers, 
who  strip  roofs  and  carry  aAvay  gutters  by  the  process 
called  tm  gras  double.  What  finally  rendered  the 
moment  favorable  for  an  attempted  escape  Avas  that 
workmen  were  at  this  very  moment  engaged  in  re- 
laying and  re-tipping  a part  of  the  prison  slates.  The 
St.  Bernard  was  not  absolutely  isolated  from  the 
Charlemagne  and  St.  Louis  yards,  for  there  Avere  on 
the  roof  scaffolding  and  ladders,  — in  other  words, 
bridges  and  staircases,  on  the  side  of  deliverance. 
The  Batiment  Neuf,  Avhich  was  the  most  cracked 
and  decrepit  affair  possible  to  imagine,  was  the  weak 
point  of  the  prison.  Saltpetre  had  so  gnawed  the 
Avails  that  it  had  been  found  necessary  to  prop  up 
and  shore  the  ceilings  of  the  dormitories  ; because 
stones  became  detached  and  fell  on  the  prisoners’ 
beds.  In  spite  of  this  antiquity,  the  error  was  com- 
mitted of  confining  in  there  the  most  dangerous  pris- 
oners, and  placing  in  it  the  “ heaA’y  cases,”  as  is  said  in 
the  prison  jargon.  The  Batiment  Neuf  contained  four 


INCIDENTS  OF  AN  ESCAPE. 


221 


sleeping-wards,  one  above  the  other,  and  a garret- 
floor  called  “Le  Bel  Air.”  A large  chimney-flue, 
probably  belonging  to  some  old  kitchen  of  the  Dues 
de  la  Force,  started  from  the  ground-floor,  passed 
through  the  four  stories,  cut  in  two  the  sleeping- 
wards,  in  which  it  figured  as  a sort  of  flattened  pillar, 
and  issued  through  a hole  in  the  roof.  Gueulemer 
and  Brujon  were  in  the  same  ward,  and  had  been 
placed  through  precaution  on  the  ground-floor.  Acci- 
dent willed  it  that  the  head  of  their  beds  rested 
against  the  chimney-flue.  Thenardier  w'as  exactly 
above  their  heads  in  the  garret  called  Bel  Air. 

The  i^asser-by  who  stops  in  the  Rue  Culture  Sainte 
Catherine,  after  passing  the  fire-brigade  station,  and 
in  front  of  the  bath-house  gateway,  sees  a court-yard 
full  of  flowers  and  shrubs  in  boxes,  at  the  end  of 
which  is  a small  white  rotunda  with  two  wings,  en- 
livened by  green  shutters,  - — the  bucolic  dream  of 
Jean  Jacques.  Not  ten  years  ago  there  rose  above 
this  rotunda  a black,  enormous,  frightful,  naked  wall, 
which  was  the  outer  wall  of  La  Force.  This  wall  be- 
hind this  rotunda  was  like  a glimpse  of  Milton  caught 
behind  Berquin.  High  though  it  was,  this  wall  was 
surmounted  by  an  even  blacker  roof,  which  could  be 
seen  beyond,  — it  was  the  roof  of  the  BhtimentNeuf. 

Four  dormer-windows  protected  by  bars  could  be 
seen  in  it,  and  they  were  the  windows  of  Bel  Air ; 
and  a chimney  passed  through  the  roof,  which  was 
the  chimney  of  the  sleeping-wards.  Bel  Aii',  the 
attic-floor  of  the  Batiment  Neuf,  was  a species  of 
large  hall,  closed  with  triple  gratings  and  iron-lined 
doors,  starred  with  enormous  nails.  When  you 


222 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


entered  by  the  north  end,  you  had  on  your  Jeft  the 
four  dormers,  and  on  your  right  facing  these,  four 
square  and  spacious  cages,  separated  by  narrow  pas- 
sages, built  up  to  breast-height  of  masonry,  and  the 
rest  to  the  roof  of  iron  bars.  Thenardier  had  been 
confined  in  solitary  punishment  since  the  night  of 
February  3.  It  was  never  discovered  how,  or  by  what 
connivance,  he  succeeded  in  procuring  and  concealing 
a bottle  of  that  prepared  wine,  invented,  so  it  is  said, 
by  Desrues,  in  which  a narcotic  is  mixed,  and  which 
the  band  of  the  Endormeurs  rendered  celebrated. 
There  are  in  many  prisons  treacherous  turnkeys,  half 
jailers,  half  robbers,  who  assist  in  escapes,  sell  to  the 
police  a faithless  domesticity,  and  “ make  the  handle 
of  the  salad-basket  dance.” 

On  this  very  night,  then,  when  little  Gavroche 
picked  up  the  two  straying  children,  Brujon  and 
Gueulemer,  who  knew  that  Babet,  who  had  escaped 
that  same  morning,  was  waiting  for  them  in  the 
street  with  Montparnasse,  gently  rose,  and  began 
breaking  open  with  a nail  which  Brujon  had  found 
the  stove-pipe  against  which  their  beds  were.  The 
rubbish  fell  on  Brujon’s  bed,  so  that  it  was  not 
heard  ; and  the  gusts  of  wind  mingled  with  the  thun- 
der shook  the  doors  on  their  hinges,  and  produced  a 
frightful  and  hideous  row  in  the  prison.  Those  pris- 
oners who  awoke  pretended  to  fall  asleep  again,  and 
left  Brujon  and  Gueulemer  to  do  as  they  pleased ; 
and  Brujon  was  skilful,  and  Gueulemer  was  vigo- 
rous. Before  any  sound  had  reached  the  watchman 
sleeping  in  the  grated  cell  which  looked  into  the  ward, 
the  wall  was  broken  through,  the  chimney  escaladed, 


INCIDENTS  OF  AN  ESCAPE. 


223 


the  iron  trellis-work  which  closed  the  upper  opening 
of  the  flue  forced,  and  the  two  formidable  bandits 
were  on  the  roof.  The  rain  and  the  wind  were  tre- 
mendous, and  the  roof  was  slippery.  . 

“ What  a fine  sorgue  [night]  for  a bolt ! ” said 
Brujon. 

An  abyss  of  six  feet  in  width  and  eighty  feet  deep 
separated  them  from  the  surrounding  wall,  and  at 
the  bottom  of  this  abyss  they  could  see  a sentry’s 
musket  gleaming  in  the  darkness.  They  fastened  to 
the  ends  of  the  chimney-bars  which  they  had  just 
broken  the  rope  which  Brujon  had  woven  in  the  cell, 
threw  the  other  end  over  the  outer  wall,  crossed  the 
abyss  at  a bound,  clung  to  the  coping  of  the  wall,  be- 
straddled  it,  glided  in  turn  along  the  rope  to  a little 
roof  which  joins  the  bath-house,  pulled  their  rope 
to  them,  jumped  into  the  yard  of  the  bath-house, 
pushed  open  the  porter’s  casement,  close  to  which 
hung  his  cord,  pulled  the  cord,  opened  the  gate,  and 
found  themselves  in  the  street.  Not  three  quarters 
of  an  hour  had  elapsed  since  they  were  standing  on 
the  bed,  nail  in  hand,  and  with  their  plan  in  their 
heads  ; a few  minutes  after,  they  had  rejoined  Babet 
and  Montparnasse,  who  were  prowling  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. On  drawing  the  cord  to  them  they  broke  it, 
and  a piece  had  remained  fastened  to  the  chimney  on 
the  roof,  but  they  had  met  with  no  other  accident  be- 
yond almost  entirely  skinning  their  fingers.  On  this 
night  Th^nardier  was  warned,  though  it  was  impos- 
sible to  discover  how,  and  did  not  go  to  sleep.  At 
about  one  in  the  morning,  when  the  night  was  very 
black,  he  saw  two  shadows  passing,  in  the  rain  and 


224 


THE  KUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


gusts,  the  windo\Y  opposite  his  cage.  One  stopped 
just  long  enough  to  give  a look;  it  was  Brujon. 
Thenardier  saw  him,  and  understood,  — that  was 
enough  for  him.  Thenardier,  reported  to  be  a burg- 
lar, and  detained  on  the  charge  of  attempting  to  ob- 
tain money  at  night  by  violence,  was  kept  under 
constant  watch  ; and  a sentry,  relieved  every  two 
hours,  walked  in  front  of  his  cage  with  a loaded 
musket.  Bel  Air  was  lighted  by  a sky-light,  and  the 
prisoner  had  on  his  feet  a pair  of  fetters  weighing 
fifty  pounds.  Every  day  at  four  in  the  afternoon,  a 
turnkey,  escorted  by  two  mastiffs,  — such  things  still 
happened  at  that  day,  — entered  his  cage,  placed  near 
his  bed  a black  loaf  of  two  pounds’  weight,  a water- 
jug,  and  a bowl  of  very  weak  broth  in  which  a few 
beans  floated,  inspected  his  fetters,  and  tapped  the 
bars.  This  man  with  his  dogs  returned  twice  during 
the  night. 

Thenardier  had  obtained  permission  to  keep  a sort 
of  iron  pin  which  he  used  to  nail  his  bread  to  the 
wall,  in  order,  as  he  said,  “ to  preserve  it  from  the 
rats.”  As  Thenardier  was  under  a constant  watch, 
this  pin  did  not  seem  dangerous  ; still  it  was  re- 
membered at  a later  day  that  a turnkey  said,  “ It 
would  have  been  better  oidy  to  leave  him  a wooden 
skewer.”  At  two  in  the  morning  the  sentry,  who 
was  an  old  soldier,  was  changed,  and  a recruit  sub- 
stituted for  him.  A few  minutes  after,  the  man  with 
the  dogs  paid  his  visit,  and  went  away  without 
having  noticed  anything,  except  the  youthful  and 
peasant  look  of  the  “ tourlourou.”  Two  hours  after, 
when  they  came  to  relieve  this  conscript,  they  found 


INCIDENTS  OF  AN  ESCAPE. 


225 


him  asleep,  and  lying  like  a log  by  the  side  of 
Th^nardier’s  cage.  As  for  the  prisoner,  he  was  no 
longer  there ; his  severed  fetters  lay  on  the  ground, 
and  there  was  a hole  in  the  ceiling  of  his  cage,  and 
another  above  it  in  the  roof.  A plank  of  his  bed 
had  been  torn  out  and  carried  off ; for  it  could  not  be 
found.  In  the  cell  was  also  found  the  half  empty 
bottle,  containing  the  rest  of  the  drugged  wine  with 
which  the  young  soldier  had  been  sent  to  sleep.  The 
soldier’s  bayonet  had  disappeared.  At  the  moment 
when  all  this  was  discovered,  Thenardier  was  sup- 
posed to  be  out  of  reach  ; the  truth  was,  that  he 
was  no  longer  in  the  Batiment  Neuf,  but  was  still  in 
great  danger.  Thenardier,  on  reaching  the  roof  of  the 
Batiment  Neuf,  found  the  remainder  of  Brujon’s  rope 
hanging  from  the  chimney-bars ; but  as  the  broken 
cord  was  much  too  short,  he  was  unable  to  cross  the 
outer  wall  as  Brujon  and  Gueulemer  had  done. 

When  you  turn  out  of  the  Rue  des  Ballets  into 
the  Rue  du  Roi  de  Sicile,  you  notice  almost  directly 
on  your  right  a dirty  hollow.  In  the  last  century  a 
house  stood  here,  of  which  only  the  back  wall  exists, 
a perfect  ruin  of  a wall  which  rises  to  the  height  of 
a third  story  between  the  adjacent  buildings.  This 
ruin  can  be  recognized  by  two  large  square  windows, 
still  \isible.  The  centre  one,  the  one  nearest  the 
right-hand  gable,  is  barred  by  a worm-eaten  joist 
adjusted  in  the  supporting  rafter;  and  through  these 
windows  could  be  seen,  formerly,  a lofty  lugubrious 
wall,  which  was  a portion  of  the  outer  wall  of  La 
Force.  The  gap  which  the  demolished  house  has 
left  in  the  street  is  half  filled  up  with  a palisade  of 

VOL.  IV.  15 


226 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


rotten  planks,  supported  by  five  stone  pillars,  and 
inside  is  a small  but  built  against  the  still  standing 
ruin.  The  boarding  has  a door  in  it  which  a few 
years  ago  was  merely  closed  with  a latcli.  It  was 
the  top  of  this  ruin  which  Th^nardier  had  attained  a 
little  after  three  in  the  morning.  How  did  he  get 
there  ? This  was  never  explained  or  understood. 
The  lightning-flashes  must  at  once  have  impeded  and 
helped  him.  Did  he  employ  the  ladders  and  scaf- 
folding of  the  slaters  to  pass  from  I’oof  to  roof,  over 
the  buildings  of  the  Charlemagne  yard,  those  of  the 
St.  Louis  yard,  the  outer,  and  thence  reach  the 
ruined  wall  in  the  Rue  dii  Roi  de  Sicile  ? But 
there  were  in  this  passage  breaks  of  continuity, 
which  seemed  to  render  it  impossible.  Had  he  laid 
the  plank  from  his  bed  as  a bridge  from  the  roof  of 
Bel  Air  to  the  outer  wall,  and  crawled  on  his  stom- 
ach along  the  coping,  all  round  the  prison  till  he 
reached  the  ruin  ? But  the  outer  wall  of  La  Force 
Avas  very  irregular  ; it  rose  and  sank  ; it  was  low  at 
the  fire-brigade  station,  and  rose  again  at  the  bath- 
house ; it  was  intersected  by  buildings,  and  had 
everywhere  drops  and  right  angles  ; and  then,  too, 
the  sentries  must  have  seen  the  fugitive’s  dark  out- 
line, — and  thus  the  road  taken  by  Thenardicr  re- 
mains almost  inexplicable.  Had  he,  illumined  by 
that  frightful  thirst  for  liberty  which  changes  preci- 
pices into  ditches,  iron  bars  into  reeds,  a cripple  into 
an  athlete,  a gouty  patient  into  a bird,  stupidity  into 
instinct,  instinct  into  intellect,  and  intellect  into 
genius,  invented  and  improvised  a third  mode  of 
escape  ? No  one  ever  knew. 


IXCIDE2vTS  OF  AN  ESCAPE. 


227 


It  is  not  always  possible  to  explain  the  marvels  of 
an  escape  ; the  man  who  breaks  prison  is,  we  repeat, 
inspired.  There  is  something  of  a star,  of  the  light- 
ning, in  the  mysterious  light  of  the  flight.  The  effort 
made  for  deliverance  is  no  less  surprising  than  the 
soaring  toward  the  sublime,  and  people  say  of  an 
escaped  robber,  “ How  did  he  manage  to  scale  that 
roof  ? ” in  the  same  way  as  they  say  of  Corneille, 
“ ^^^lere  did  he  find  his  gii’il  mouriit  ? ” However 
this  may  be,  Th^nardier,  dripping  with  perspiration, 
wet  through  with  rain,  with  his  clothes  in  rags,  his 
hands  skinned,  his  elbows  bleeding,  and  his  knees 
lacerated,  reached  the  ruin-wall,  lay  down  full  length 
on  it,  and  then  his  strength  failed  him.  A perpen- 
dicular wall  as  high  as  a three-storied  house  separated 
him  from  the  street,  and  the  rope  he  had  was  too 
short.  He  waited  there,  pale,  exhausted,  despairing, 
though  just  now  so  hopeful,  still  covered  by  night, 
but  saying  to  himself  that  day  would  soon  come  ; 
horrified  at  the  thought  that  he  should  shortly  hear 
it  strike  four  from  the  neighboring  clock  of  St.  Paul, 
the  hour  when  the  sentry  would  be  changed,  and  be 
found  asleep  under  the  hole  in  the  roof.  He  regarded 
with  stupor  the  wet  black  pavement,  in  the  light  of 
the  lamps,  and  at  such  a terrible  depth,  — that  desired 
and  terrific  pavement  which  was  death  and  which 
was  liberty.  He  asked  himself  whether  his  three 
accomplices  had  succeeded  in  escaping,  whether  they 
were  waiting  for  him,  and  if  they  would  come  to  his 
help  ? He  listened  : excepting  a patrol,  no  one  had 
passed  through  the  street  since  he  had  been  lying 
there.  Nearly  all  the  market  carts  from  iMontreuil, 


228 


THE  EUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


Cliaroiiiie,  Vincennes,  and  Bercy  came  into  town  by 
the  Rue  St.  Antoine. 

Four  o’clock  struck,  and  Th^nardier  trembled.  A 
few  minutes  after,  the  startled  and  confused  noise 
which  follows  the  discovery  of  an  escape  broke  out 
in  the  prison.  The  sound  of  doors  being  opened  and 
shut,  the  creaking  of  gates  on  their  hinges,  the 
tumult  at  the  guard-room,  and  the  clang  of  musket 
butts  on  the  pavement  of  the  yards,  reached  his  ear's. 
Lights  flashed  past  the  grated  windows  of  the  sleep- 
ing wai’ds ; a torch  ran  along  the  roof  of  the  Brlti- 
ment  Neuf,  and  the  firemen  wei-e  called  out.  Three 
caps,  which  the  torch  lit  up  in  the  rain,  came 
and  went  along  the  roofs,  and  at  the  same  time 
Th^nardier  saw,  in  the  direction  of  the  Bastille,  a 
livid  gleam  mournfully  whitening  the  sky.  He  was 
on  the  top  of  a wall  ten  inches  wide,  lying  in  the 
pitiless  rain,  with  a gulf  on  his  right  hand  and  on 
his  left,  unable  to  stir,  suffering  from  the  dizziness 
of  a possible  fall  and  the  horror  of  a certain  arrest, 
and  his  mind,  like  the  clapper  of  a bell,  went  from 
one  of  these  ideas  to  the  other : “ Dead  if  I fall ; 
caught  if  I remain.”  In  this  state  of  agony  he  sud- 
denly saw  in  the  still  perfectly  dark  street  a man, 
who  glided  along  the  walls  and  came  from  the  Rue 
Pav4e,  stop  in  the  gap  over  which  Th(5nardier  was, 
as  it  were,  suspended.  This  man  was  joined  by  a 
second,  who  walked  with  similar  caution,  then  by 
a third,  and  then  by  a fourth.  When  these  men 
were  together,  one  of  them  raised  the  latch  of  the 
paling  gate,  and  all  four  entered  the  enclosure  where 
the  hut  is,  and  stood  exactly  under  Th^nardier. 


INCIDENTS  OF  AN  ESCAPE. 


229 


These  men  had  evidently  selected  this  place  to  con- 
sult in,  in  order  not  to  be  seen  by  passers-by,  or  the 
sentry  guarding  the  wicket  of  La  Force  a few  paces 
distant.  We  must  say,  too,  that  the  rain  kept  this 
sentry  confined  to  his  box.  Tluinardier,  unable  to 
distinguish  their  faces,  listened  to  their  remarks  with 
the  desperate  attention  of  a wretch  who  feels  him- 
self lost.  He  felt  something  like  hope  pass  before 
his  eyes,  when  he  heard  these  men  talking  slang. 
The  first  said,  in  a low  voice,  but  distinctly,  some- 
thing which  we  had  better  translate  : - — 

“ Let  us  be  off.  What  are  we  doing  here  ? ” 

The  second  replied,  — 

“ It  is  raining  hard  enough  to  put  out  the  fire 
of  hell.  And  then  the  police  will  pass  soon  ; besides, 
there  is  a sentry  on.  We  shall  get  ourselves  arrested 
here.” 

Two  words  eiuployed,  icigo  and  icicaillc,  wliich 
both  mean  “ here,”  and  which  belong,  the  first  to 
the  flash  language  of  the  barrihres,  and  the  second  to 
that  of  the  Temple,  were  rays  of  light  for  Thdnardier. 
By  the  icigo  he  recognized  Brujon,  wflio  was  a prowler 
at  the  barrihres,  and  by  icicaille  Babct,  who,  among 
all  his  other  trades,  had  been  a second-hand  clothes- 
dealer  at  the  Temple.  The  anti(iuc  slang  of  the 
great  century  is  only  talked  now  at  the  Temple,  and 
Babet  was  the  oidy  man  who  spoke  it  in  its  purity. 
Had  it  not  been  for  the  icicaille,  Thenardier  could 
not  have  recognized  him,  for  he  had  completely 
altered  his  voice.  In  the  mean  while  the  third  man 
had  interfered. 

“ There  is  nothing  to  hurry  us,  so  let  us  wait  a 


230 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


little.  Wliat  is  there  to  tell  us  that  he  does  not 
want  us  ? ” 

Through  this,  which  was  only  French,  Thenarclier 
recognized  iNIontparnasse,  who.se  pride  it  was  to 
understand  all  the  slang  dialects  and  not  speak 
one  of  them.  As  for  the  fourth  man,  he  held  his 
tongue,  but  his  wide  shoulders  denounced  him,  and 
Th^nardier  did  not  hesitate,  — it  Avas  Giieulemer. 
Brujon  replied  almost  impetuously,  but  still  in  a 
low  voice  ; — 

“ What  is  that  you  are  saying  ? The  innkeeper 
has  not  been  able  to  bolt.  He  does  n’t  understand 
the  dodge.  A man  must  be  a clever  hand  to  tear 
up  his  shirt  and  cut  his  sheets  in  slips  to  make  a 
rope ; to  make  holes  in  doors ; manufacture  false 
papers ; make  false  keys ; file  his  fetters  through  ; 
hang  his  rope  out  of  the  window  ; hide  and  disguise 
himself.  The  old  man  cannot  have  done  this,  for 
he  does  not  knoAV  how  to  work.” 

Babet  added,  still  in  the  correct  classic  slang  which 
Poiailler  and  Cartouche  spoke,  and  which  is  to  the 
new,  bold,  and  colored  slang  which  Brujon  employed 
what  tlie  language  of  Racine  is  to  that  of  Andr^ 
Chenier,  — 

“ Your  friend  the  innkeeper  must  have  been  taken 
in  the  attempt.  One  ought  to  be  wide  awake.  He 
is  a flat.  He  must  have  been  bamboozled  by  a de- 
tective, perhaps  even  by  a prison  spy,  who  played 
the  simpleton.  Listen,  Montparnasse  ; do  you  hear 
those  shouts  in  the  prison  ? Y^ou  saw  all  those 
candles  ; he  is  caught  again,  and  will  get  off  with 
twenty  years.  I am  not  fr’ightened.  I am  no  coward. 


INCIDENTS  OF  AN  ESCAPE. 


231 


as  is  well  known  ; but  the  only  thing  to  be  done  now 
is  to  bolt,  or  we  shall  be  trapped.  Do  not  feel 
offended ; but  come  with  us,  and  let  us  drink  a 
bottle  of  old  wine  together.” 

“ Friends  must  not  be  left  in  a difficulty,”  Mont- 
parnasse growled, 

‘‘  I tell  you  he  is  caught  again,”  Brujon  resumed, 
“ and  at  this  moment  the  landlord  is  not  ivorth  a 
farthing.  We  can  do  nothing  for  him,  so  let  us  be 
off.  I feel  at  every  moment  as  if  a policeman  were 
holding  me  in  his  hand.” 

Montparnasse  resisted  but  feebly ; the  truth  is, 
that  these  four  men,  with  the  fidelity  which  bandits 
have  of  never  deserting  each  other,  had  2ii’owled  the 
whole  night  aronnd  La  Force,  in  spite  of  the  jjeril 
they  incurred,  in  the  hope  of  seeing  Thenardier  af)- 
pear  on  the  tojD  of  some  wall.  But  the  night,  which 
became  really  too  favorable,  for  the  rain  rendered  all 
the  streets  deserted,  the  cold  which  attacked  them, 
their  dripping  clothes,  their  worn-out  shoes,  the 
alarming  noises  which  had  broken  out  in  the  prison, 
the  hours  which  had  elapsed,  the  patrols  they  had 
met,  the  hope  which  departed,  and  the  fear  that  re- 
turned, — all  this  nrged  them  to  retreat.  Montpar- 
nasse himself,  who  was  perhaps  Th^nardier’s  son-in- 
law  in  a certain  sense,  yielded,  and  in  a moment  they 
would  be  gone.  Thenardier  gasped  on  his  wall  as 
the  shipwrecked  crew  of  the  “ M^duse  ” did  on  their 
raft,  when  they  watched  the  ship  which  they  had 
sighted  fade  away  on  the  horizon.  He  did  not  dare 
call  to  them,  for  a cry  overheard  might  ruin  every- 
thing ; but  he  had  an  idea,  a last  idea,  an  inspiration. 


232 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


— he  took  from  his  pocket  the  end  of  Brujon’s  rope 
which  he  had  detached  from  the  chimney  of  the 
Batiment  Neuf,  and  threw  it  at  their  feet. 

“ A cord  ! ” said  Babet, 

“ My  cord  ! ” said  Brujon. 

“ The  landlord  is  there,”  said  Montparnasse.  They 
raised  their  eyes  and  Thenardier  thrust  out  his  head 
a little. 

“Quiet,”  said  Montparnasse.  “Have  you  the  other 
end  of  the  rope,  Brujon?  ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Fasten  the  two  ends  together.  We  will  throw 
the  rope  to  him  ; he  will  attach  it  to  the  wall,  and  it 
will  be  long  enough  for  him  to  come  down.” 

Thdnardier  ventured  to  raise  his  voice,  — 

“ I am  wet  through.” 

“We  ’ll  warm  you.” 

“ I cannot  stir.” 

“You  will  slip  down,  and  we  will  catch  you.” 

“ My  hands  are  swollen.” 

“ Only  just  fasten  the  rope  to  the  wall.” 

“ I can’t.” 

“ One  of  us  must  go  up,”  said  Montparnasse. 

“ Three  stories  ! ” Brujon  ejaculated. 

An  old  plaster  conduit  pipe,  which  had  served  for 
a stove  formerly,  lit  in  the  hut,  ran  along  the  wall 
almost  to  the  spot  where  Thenardier  was  lying.  This 
pipe,  which  at  that  day  was  full  of  cracks  and  holes, 
has  since  fallen  down,  but  its  traces  may  be  seen.  It 
was  very  narrow. 

“ It  would  be  possible  to  mount  by  that,”  said 
IMontparnasse. 


INCIDENTS  OF  AN  ESCAPE. 


233 


“ By  that  pipe  ? ” Babet  exclaimed,  “ A man  ? 
Oh  no,  a boy  is  required.” 

“Yes,  a boy,”  Brujon  said  in  affirmative, 

“ Where  can  we  find  one  ? ” Gueulemer  said. 

“Wait  a miuute,”  Montparnasse  said;  “I  have 
it.” 

He  gently  opened  the  door  of  the  paling,  assured 
himself  that  there  was  no  passer-by  in  the  street,  went 
out,  shut  the  gate  cautiously  after  him,  and  ran  off  in 
the  direction  of  the  Bastille.  Seven  or  eight  minutes 
elapsed,  eight  thousand  centuries  for  Tlffinardier ; 
Babet,  Brujon,  and  Gueidemer  did  not  open  their 
lips ; the  door  opened  again,  and  Montparnasse  came 
in,  panting  and  leading  Gavroche,  The  rain  con- 
tinued to  make  the  street  completely  deserted.  Little 
Gavroche  stepped  into  the  enclosure  and  looked 
calmly  at  the  faces  of  the  bandits.  The  rain  was 
dripping  from  his  hair,  and  Gueulemer  said  to 
him,  — 

“ Brat,  are  you  a man  ? ” 

Gavroche  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  replied,  — 

“ A child  like  me  is  a man,  and  men  like  you  are 
children.” 

“ What  a well-hung  tongue  the  brat  has  ! ” Babet 
exclaimed. 

“The  boy  of  Paris  is  not  made  of  wet  paste,’ 
Brujon  added. 

“ What  do  you  want  of  me  ? ” said  Gavroche. 

Montparnasse  answered,  — 

“ Climb  up  that  pipe.” 

“ With  this  rope,”  Babet  remarked. 

“ And  fasten  it,”  Brujon  continued. 


234 


THE  HUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


“At  the  top  of  the  wall,”  Babct  added. 

“ To  the  cross-bar  of  the  window,”  Brujon  said, 
finally. 

“ What  next  ? ” asked  Gavroche. 

“ Here  it  is,”  said  Gueulemer. 

The  gamin  examined  the  rope,  the  chimney,  the 
wall,  and  the  window,  and  gave  that  indescribable 
and  disdainful  smack  of  the  lips  which  signifies, 
“What  is  it?” 

“ There  is  a man  up  there  whom  you  will  save,” 
Montparnasse  continued. 

“ Are  you  willing  ? ” Brujon  asked. 

“ Ass  ! ” the  lad  replied,  as  if  the  question  seemed 
to  him  extraordinary,  and  took  off  his  shoes. 

Gueulemer  seized  Gavroche  by  one  arm,  placed 
him  on  the  roof  of  the  pent-houses,  where  mouldering 
planks  bent  under  the  boy’s  weight,  and  handed  him 
the  rope  which  Brujon  had  joined  again  during  the 
absence  of  IMontparnasse.  The  gamin  turned  to  the 
chimney,  which  it  was  an  easy  task  to  enter  by  a 
large  crevice  close  to  the  roof.  At  the  moment  when 
he  was  going  to  ascend,  Th^nardier,  who  saw  safety 
and  life  approaching,  leaned  over  the  edge  of  the 
wall.  The  first  gleam  of  day  whitened  his  dark  fore- 
head, his  livid  cheek-bones,  his  sharp  savage  nose, 
and  his  bristling  gray  beard,  and  Gavroche  recognized 
him. 

“ Hilloh  ! ” he  said,  “it’s  my  father.  Well,  that 
won’t  stop  me.” 

And  taking  the  rope  between  his  teeth,  he  reso- 
lutely commenced  his  ascent.  He  reached  the  top 
of  the  wall,  straddled  across  it  like  a horse,  and 


INCIDENTS  OF  AN  ESCAPE. 


235 


securely  fastened  the  rope  to  tlie  topmost  cross-bar 
of  the  window,  A moment  after,  Th^nardier  was 
ill  the  street.  So  soon  as  he  touched  tlie  pavement, 
so  soon  as  he  felt  himself  out  of  dangei’,  he  was  no 
longer  wearied,  cliilled,  or  trembling.  The  terrible 
things  he  had  passed  through  were  dissipated  like 
smoke,  and  all  his  strange  and  ferocious  intellect 
was  re-arouscd,  and  found  itself  erect  and  free, 
ready  to  march  onward.  The  first  remark  this  man 
made  was,  — 

“ Well,  whom  are  we  going  to  eat  ? ” 

It  is  unnecessary  to  explain  the  meaning  of  this 
frightfully  transparent  sentence,  which  signifies  at 
once  killing,  assassinating,  and  robbing.  The  real 
meaning  of  “ to  eat  ” is  “ to  devour.” 

“We  must  get  into  hiding,”  said  Brujon.  “We 
ivill  understand  each  other  in  three  words,  and  then 
separate  at  once.  There  was  an  affair  that  seemed 
good  in  the  Rue  Plumet,  — a deserted  street ; an  iso- 
lated house ; old  rust-eaten  radings  looking  on  a 
garden,  and  lone  women,” 

“ Well,  why  not  try  it  ? ” Thenardier  asked. 

“ Your  daughter  Eponiue  went  to  look  at  the 
thing,”  Babet  answered, 

“And  has  told  Magnon  it  is  'a  biscuit,’”  Brujon 
added ; “ there ’s  nothing  to  be  done  there.” 

“ The  girl ’s  no  fool,”  said  Thenardier ; “ still  we 
must  see.” 

“ Yes,  yes,”  Brujon  remarked  ; “ we  must  see.” 

Not  one  of  the  men  seemed  to  notice  Ga'VToche, 
who,  during  this  colloquy,  was  sitting  on  one  of  the 
posts.  He  waited  some  minutes,  perhaps  in  the  hope 


236 


THE  EUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


that  his  father  would  turn  to  him,  and  then  put  on 
his  shoes  again,  saying,  — 

“ Is  it  all  over  ? Yon  men  don’t  want  me  any 
more,  I suppose,  as  I ’ve  got  you  out  of  the  scrape  ? 
I ’m  off,  for  I must  go  and  wake  my  cubs.” 

And  he  went  off.  The  five  men  left  the  enclosure 
in  turn.  When  Gavroche  had  disappeared  round 
the  corner  of  the  Rue  des  Ballets,  Babet  took 
Th^nardier  on  one  side. 

“ Do  you  notice  that  kid  ? ” he  asked  him. 

“ What  kid  ? ” 

“ The  one  who  climbed  up  the  wall  and  handed 
you  the  rope.” 

“ Not  particularly.” 

“ Well,  I don’t  know  ; but  I fancy  it ’s  your  son.” 

“ Bah  ! ” said  Thenardier  ; “ do  you  think  so  ? ” 


BOOK  VIL 


SLANG. 


CHAPTER  1. 

THE  ORIGIN  OF  SLANG. 

“ PiGRiTiA  ” is  a terrible  word.  It  engenders  a 
world,  la  pegre,  for  which  read,  robbery ; and  a 
Hades,  la  pdgrenne,  for  which  read,  hunger.  Hence 
indolence  is  a mother,  and  has  a son,  robbery,  and  a 
daughter,  hunger.  Where  are  we  at  this  moment  ? 
In  slang.  What  is  slang  ? It  is  at  once  the  nation 
and  the  idiom  ; it  is  robbery  in  its  two  species,  people 
and  language.  Four-and-thirty  years  ago,  when  the 
narrator  of  this  grave  and  sombre  history  introduced 
into  the  middle  of  a work  written  with  the  same  ob- 
ject as  this  one  ^ a robber  speaking  slang,  there  was 
amazement  and  clamor.  “ Why  ! what ! slang  ! why, 
it  is  frightful ; it  is  the  language  of  the  chain-gang, 
of  hulks  and  prisons,  of  everything  that  is  the  most 
abominable  in  society,”  etc.  We  could  never  under- 
stand objections  of  this  nature.  Since  that  period 
two  powerful  romance-writers,  of  whom  one  was  a 
profound  observer  of  humanity,  the  other  an  intrepid 
^ Le  dernier  Jour  d’un  Condamne. 


238 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


friend  of  the  people,  — Balzac  and  Eugene  Sue,  — 
having  made  bandits  talk  in  tlieir  natural  tongue,  as 
the  author  of  “Le  dernier  Jour  d’un  Condamnd” 
did  in  1828,  the  same  objections  were  raised,  and 
people  repeated : “ What  do  writers  want  with  this 
repulsive  patois  ? Slang  is  odious,  and  produces  a 
shudder.”  Who  denies  it  ? Of  course  it  does.  When 
the  object  is  to  probe  a wound,  a gulf,  or  a society, 
when  did  it  become  a fault  to  drive  the  probe  too 
deep?  We  have  always  thought  that  it  was  some- 
times an  act  of  courage  and  at  the  very  least  a simple 
and  useful  action,  worthy  of  the  sympathetic  atten- 
tion which  a duty  accepted  and  carried  out  deserves. 
Why  should  we  not  explore  and  study  everything, 
and  why  stop  on  the  way  ? Stopping  is  the  function 
of  the  probe,  and  not  of  the  prober. 

Certainly  it  is  neither  an  attractive  nor  an  easy 
task  to  seek  in  the  lowest  depths  of  social  order,  where 
the  earth  leaves  off  and  mud  begins,  to  grope  in  these 
vague  densities,  to  pursue,  seize,  and  throw  quivering 
on  the  pavement  that  abject  idiom  which  drips  with 
filth  when  thus  brought  to  light,  that  pustulous  vo- 
cabulary of  which  each  word  seems  an  unclean  ring 
of  a monster  of  the  mud  and  darkness.  Nothing  is 
more  mournful  than  thus  to  contemplate,  by  the  light 
of  thought,  the  frightful  vermin  swarm  of  slang  in  its 
nudity.  It  seems,  in  fact,  as  if  you  have  just  drawn 
from  its  sewer  a sort  of  horrible  beast  made  for  the 
night,  and  you  fancy  you  see  a frightful,  living,  and 
bristling  polype,  which  shivers,  moves,  is  agitated, 
demands  the  shadow  again,  menaces,  and  looks. 
One  word  resembles  a claw,  another  a lustreless  and 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  SLANG. 


239 


bleeding  eye,  and  some  phrases  seem  to  snap  like  the 
pincers  of  a crab.  All  this  lives  with  the  hideous 
■STtality  of  things  which  are  organized  in  disorganiza- 
tion. Now,  let  us  ask,  when  did  horror  begin  to 
exclude  study ; or  the  malady  drive  away  the  physi- 
cian ? Can  we  imagine  a naturalist  who  would 
refuse  to  examine  a ^^per,  a bat,  a scorpion,  a scolo- 
pendra,  or  a tarantula,  and  throw  them  into  the 
darkness,  saying,  “Fie,  how  ugly  they  are!”  The 
thinker  who  turned  away  from  slang  would  resemble 
a surgeon  who  turned  away  from  an  ulcer  or  a wart. 
He  would  be  a philologist  hesitating  to  examine  a 
fact  of  language,  a philosopher  hesitating  to  scrutinize 
a fact  of  humanity.  For  we  must  tell  all  those  igno- 
rant of  the  fact,  that  slang  is  at  once  a literary  phe- 
nomenon and  a social  result.  What  is  slang,  properly 
so  called  ? It  is  the  language  of  misery. 

Here  we  may,  perhaps,  be  stopped ; the  fact  may 
be  generalized,  which  is  sometimes  a way  of  palliat- 
ing it ; it  may  be  observed  that  every  trade,  every 
profession,  we  might  also  say  all  the  accidents  of  the 
social  hierarchy,  and  all  the  forms  of  intelligence, 
have  their  slang.  The  merchant  who  says  “IMont- 
pellier  in  demand,  Marseille  fine  quality ; ” the  broker 
who  says,  “amount  brought  forward,  premium  at 
end  of  month ; ” the  gambler  who  says,  “ pique, 
repique,  and  capot ; ” the  bailiff  of  the  Norman  Isles 
who  says,  “ the  holder  in  fee  cannot  make  any  claim 
on  the  products  of  the  land  during  the  hereditary 
seizure  of  the  property  of  the  re-lessor ; ” the  play- 
wright who  says,  “ the  piece  was  goosed  ; ” the  actor 
who  says,  “ I made  a hit;”  the  philosopher  who  says. 


240 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


‘'phenomenal  triplicity;”  the  sportsman  Avho  says,  “a 
covey  of  partridges,  a leash  of  woodcocks  ; ” the  phre- 
nologist who  says,  “ amativeness,  combativeness,  se- 
cretiveness ; ” the  infantry  soldier  who  says,  “ my 
clarionette ; ” the  dragoon  who  says,  “ my  turkey- 
cock  ; ” the  fencing-master  who  says,  “ tierce,  carte, 
disengage  ; ” the  printer  who  says,  “ hold  a chapel ; ” 
all  — printer,  fencing-master,  dragoon,  infantry  man, 
phrenologist,  siDortsman,  philosopher,  actor,  play- 
wright, gambler,  stock-broker,  and  merchant  — talk 
slang.  The  painter  who  says,  “ my  grinder ; ” the 
attorney  who  says,  “ my  gutter-skipper ; ” the  barber 
who  says,  “ my  clerk ; ” and  the  cobbler  who  says, 
" my  scrub,”  — all  talk  slang.  Rigorously  taken,  all 
the  different  ways  of  saying  right  and  left,  the  sailor's 
larboard  and  starboard,  the  scene-shifter’s  off-side 
and  prompt-side,  and  the  verger’s  Epistle-side  and 
Gospel-side,  are  slang.  There  is  the  slang  of  affected 
girls  as  there  was  the  slang  of  the  pr^cieuses,  and  the 
Hotel  de  Rambouillet  bordered  to  some  slight  ex- 
tent the  Cour  des  Miracles.  There  is  the  slang  of 
duchesses,  as  is  proved  by  this  sentence,  written  in  a 
note  by  a very  great  lady  and  very  pretty  woman  of 
the  Restoration  : “Yous  trouverez  dans  ces  potains-la 
une  foultitude  de  raisons  pour  que  je  me  libertise.”  ^ 
Dijdomatic  ciphers  are  slang,  and  the  Pontifical 
Chancery,  writing  26  for  “ Rome,”  grkztntgzyal  for 
“Envoy,”  and  ahfxustgrnogrkzu  tu  XI.  for  “the 
Duke  of  Modena,”  talk  slang.  The  mediaeval  physi- 
cians who,  in  order  to  refer  to  carrots,  radishes,  and 

^ “ You  will  find  in  that  tittle-tattle  a multitude  of  reasons 
why  I should  take  my  liberty.” 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  SLANG. 


241 


turnips,  said,  opoponacli,  perfroschinum,  reptitalinus, 
(Iracatliolicum,  angeloriim,  and  postmegonnn,  talk 
slang.  The  sugar-refiner  who  says,  “ clarified  syrup, 
molasses,  bastard,  common,  burned,  loaf-sugar,”  — 
this  honest  manufacturer  talks  slang.  A certain 
school  of  critics,  who  twenty  years  ago  said,  ‘‘one 
half  of  Shakespeare  is  puns  and  playing  on  words,” 
spoke  slang.  The  poet  and  artist  who  with  profound 
feeling  would  call  M.  de  Montmorency  a bourgeois, 
if  he  were  not  a connoisseur  in  verses  and  statues, 
talk  slang.  The  classic  academician  who  calls  flowers 
Flora,  the  fruits  Pomona,  the  sea  Xeptune,  love  the 
flames,  beauty  charms,  a horse  a charger,  the  white 
or  tricolor  cockade  the  rose  of  Bellona,  the  three- 
cornered  hat  the  triangle  of  Mars,  — that  classic  aca- 
demician talks  slang.  Algebra,  medicine,  and  botany 
have  their  slang.  The  language  employed  on  ship- 
board — that  admirable  sea-language  so  complete  and 
picturesque,  which  Jean  Bart,  Duquesne,  Suffren,  and 
Duperre  spoke,  which  is  mingled  with  the  straining 
of  the  rigging,  the  sound  of  the  speaking-trumpets, 
the  clang  of  boarding-axe,  the  rolling,  the  wind,  the 
gusts,  and  the  cannon  — • is  an  heroic  and  brilliant 
slang,  which  is  to  the  ferocious  slang  of  robbers  what 
the  lion  is  to  the  jackal. 

All  this  is  perfectly  true,  but  whatever  people  may 
say,  this  mode  of  comprehending  the  word  “ slang  ” is 
an  extension  which  everj-body  will  not  be  prepared 
to  admit.  For  our  part,  we  perceive  the  precise  cir- 
cumscribed and  settled  acceptation  of  the  word,  and 
restrict  slang  to  slang.  The  true  slang,  the  slang 
par  excellence,  if  the  two  words  can  be  coupled,  the 

VOL.  IV.  16 


242 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


immemorial  slang  which  was  a kingdom,  is  nothing 
else,  we  repeat,  than  the  ugly,  anxious,  cunning, 
treacherous,  venomous,  cruel,  blear-eyed,  vile,  pro- 
found, and  fatal  language  of  misery.  There  is  at 
the  extremity  of  all  abasements  and  all  misfortunes 
a last  misery,  which  revolts  a)id  resolves  to  contend 
Avith  the  ensemble  of  fortunate  facts  and  reigning 
rights,  — a frightful  struggle,  in  Avhich,  at  one  mo- 
ment crafty,  at  another  violent,  at  once  unhealthy 
and  ferocious,  it  attacks  the  social  order  with  pin- 
pricks by  vice,  and  with  heavy  blows  by  crime.  For 
the  necessities  of.  this  struggle,  misery  has  invented  a 
fighting  language,  which  is  called  slang.  To  hold  up 
on  the  surface  and  keep  from  forgetfulness,  from  the 
gulf,  only  a fragment  of  any  language  which  man 
has  spoken,  and  which  would  be  lost,  — that  is  to  say, 
one  of  the  elements,  good  or  bad,  of  which  civiliza- 
tion is  composed  and  complicated,  — is  to  extend  the 
data  of  social  observation  and  serve  civilization  itself. 
Plautus  rendered  this  service,  Avhether  voluntarily  or 
involuntarily,  by  making  two  Carthaginian  soldiers 
speak  Phoenician  ; Molifere  rendered  it  also  by  mak- 
ing so  many  of  his  characters  talk  Levantine  and  all 
sorts  of  patois.  Here  objections  crop  out  afresh  : 
Phoenician,  excellent ; Levantine,  very  good ; and  even 
patois  may  be  allowed,  for  they  are  languages  which 
have  belonged  to  nations  or  provinces  — but  slang  ? 
Of  what  service  is  it  to  preserve  slang  and  help  it  to 
float  on  the  surface  ? 

To  this  we  will  only  make  one  remark.  Assuredly, 
if  the  language  which  a nation  or  a province  has 
spoken  is  worthy  of  interest,  there  is  a thing  still 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  SLANG. 


243 


more  worthy  of  attention  and  study,  and  that  is  the 
language  which  a wretchedness  has  spoken.  It  is 
the  language  which  has  been  spoken  in  France,  for 
instance,  for  more  than  four  centuries,  not  only  by  a 
wretchedness,  but  by  every  VTetchedness,  by  every 
human  ^^Tetchedness  possible.  And  then,  we  insist 
upon  the  fact,  to  study  social  deformities  and  infirm- 
ities, and  point  them  out  for  cure,  is  not  a task  in 
which  choice  is  permissible.  The  historian  of  morals 
and  ideas  has  a mission  no  less  austere  than  the  his- 
torian of  events.  The  latter  has  the  surface  of  cmli- 
zation,  the  struggles  of  crowned  heads,  the  births  of 
princes,  the  marriages  of  kings,  assemblies,  great  pub- 
lic men  and  revolutions,  — all  the  external  part ; the 
other  historian  has  the  interior,  • — - the  basis,  the  people 
that  labors,  suffers,  and  waits,  the  crushed  woman, 
the  child  d}ing  in  agony,  the  dull  warfare  of  man 
with  man,  obscene  ferocities,  prejudices,  allowed  in- 
iquities, the  subterranean  counter-strokes  of  the  law, 
the  secret  revolutions  of  minds,  the  indistinct  shiver- 
ing of  multitudes,  those  who  die  of  hunger,  the  bare- 
footed, the  bare-armed,  the  disinherited,  the  orphans, 
the  unhappy,  the  infamous,  and  all  the  ghosts  that 
wander  about  in  obscurity.  He  must  go  down  with 
his  heart  full  of  charity  and  severity,  at  once  as  a 
brother  and  as  a judge,  into  the  impenetrable  dun- 
geons in  which  crawl  pell-mell  those  who  bleed  and 
those  who  wound,  those  who  weep  and  those  who 
cure,  those  who  fast  and  those  who  devour,  those  that 
endure  e\dl,  and  those  who  commit  it.  Are  the  duties 
of  the  historians  of  hearts  and  souls  inferior  to  those 
of  the  historians  of  external  facts  ? Can  we  believe 


244 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


that  Aligliieri  has  less  to  say  than  Machiavelli  ? Is 
the  lower  part  of  civilization,  because  it  is  deeper 
and  more  gloomy,  less  important  than  the  upper  ? 
Do  we  know  the  mountain  thoroughly  if  we  do  not 
know  the  caverns  ? 

We  will  notice,  by  the  way,  that  from  our  previous 
remarks  a marked  separation,  which  does  not  exist  in 
our  mind,  might  be  inferred  between  the  two  classes 
of  historians.  No  one  is  a good  historian  of  the 
patent,  visible,  glistening,  and  public  life  of  a people, 
unless  he  is  at  the  same  time  to  a certain  extent  the 
historian  of  their  profound  and  hidden  life ; and  no 
one  is  a good  historian  of  the  interior  unless  he 
can  be,  whenever  it  is  required,  historian  of  the  ex- 
terior. The  history  of  morals  and  ideas  penetrates 
the  history  of  events,  and  vice  versd ; they  are  two 
orders  of  different  facts  which  answer  to  each  other, 
are  always  linked  together,  and  often  engender  one 
another.  All  the  lineaments  which  Providence  traces 
on  the  surface  of  a nation  have  their  gloomy,  but 
distinct,  parallels  at  the  base,  and  all  the  convulsions 
of  the  interior  produce  up-heavings  on  the  surface. 
As  true  history  is  a medley  of  everything,  the  real 
historian  attends  to  everything.  Man  is  not  a circle 
with  only  one  centre ; he  is  an  ellipse  with  two  foci, 
facts  being  the  one,  and  ideas  the  other.  Slang  is 
nothing  but  a vestibule  in  which  language,  having 
some  wicked  action  to  commit,  disguises  itself.  It 
puts  on  these  masks  of  words  and  rags  of  metaphors. 
In  this  way  it  becomes  horrible,  and  can  scarce  be  re- 
cognized. Is  it  really  the  French  language,  the  great 
human  tongue  ? It  is  ready  to  go  on  the  stage  and 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  SLANG. 


245 


take  up  the  cue  of  crime,  and  suited  for  all  the  parts 
iu  the  repertory  of  evil.  It  no  longer  walks,  but 
shambles  ; it  limps  upon  the  crutch  of  the  Cour  des 
iMiracles,  which  may  be  metamorphosed  into  a club. 
All  the  spectres,  its  dressers,  have  daubed  its  face, 
aud  it  crawls  along  and  stands  erect  with  the  double 
movement  of  the  reptile.  It  is  henceforth  ready  for 
any  part,  for  it  has  been  made  to  squint  by  the  forger, 
has  been  verdigrised  by  the  poisoner,  blackened  by 
the  soot  of  the  incendiary,  and  the  murderer  has 
given  it  his  red. 

When  you  listen  at  the  door  of  society,  on  the  side 
of  honest  men,  you  catch  the  dialogue  of  those  out- 
side. You  distinguish  questions  and  answers,  aud 
notice,  without  comprehending  it,  a hideous  murmur 
sounding  almost  like  the  human  accent,  but  nearer  to 
a yell  than  to  speech.  It  is  slang ; the  words  are 
deformed,  wild,  imprinted  with  a species  of  fantastic 
bestiality.  You  fancy  that  you  hear  hydras  convers- 
ing. It  is  uuintelligibility  in  darkness  ; it  gnashes  its 
teeth  and  talks  iii  whispers,  supplementing  the  gloom 
by  enigmas.  There  is  darkness  in  misfortune,  aud 
greater  darkness  still  in  crime,  and  these  two  dark- 
nesses amalgamated  compose  slang.  There  is  ob- 
scurity in  the  atmosphai’e,  obscurity  in  the  deeds, 
obscurity  in  the  voices.  It  is  a horrifying,  frog-like 
language,  which  goes,  comes,  hops,  crawls,  slavers, 
and  moves  monstrously  in  that  common  gray  mist 
composed  of  crime,  night,  hunger,  vice,  falsehood, 
injustice,  nudity,  asphyxia,  and  winter,  which  is  the 
high  noon  of  the  wretched. 

Let  us  take  compassion  on  the  chastised,  for,  alas  ! 


246 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


what  are  we  ourselves  ? Who  am  I,  who  am  speaking 
to  you  ? Who  are  you,  who  are  listening  to  me  ? 
Whence  do  we  come  ? And  is  it  quite  sure  that  we 
did  nothing  before  we  were  born  ? The  earth  is  not 
without  a resemblance  to  a prison,  and  who  kuows 
whether  man  is  not  the  ticket-of-leave  of  Divine  jus- 
tice ? If  we  look  at  life  closely  we  find  it  so  made 
that  there  is  punishment  everywhere  to  be  seen.  Are 
you  what  is  called  a happy  man?  Well,  you  are  sad 
every  day,  and  each  of  them  has  its  great  grief  or 
small  anxiety.  Yesterday,  you  trembled  for  a health 
which  is  dear  to  you,  to-day  you  are  frightened  about 
your  own,  to-morrow  it  will  be  a monetary  anxiety, 
and  the  day  after  the  diatribe  of  a calumniator,  and 
the  day  after  that  again  the  misfortune  of  some 
friend ; then  the  weather,  then  something  broken  or 
lost,  or  a pleasure  for  which  your  conscience  and  your 
backbone  reproach  you ; or,  another  time,  the  pro- 
gress of  imblic  affairs,  and  we  do  not  take  into  account 
heart-pangs.  And  so  it  goes  on  ; one  cloud  is  dissi- 
pated, another  forms,  and  there  is  hardly  one  day  in 
one  hundred  of  real  joy  and  bright  sunshine.  And 
you  are  one  of  that  small  number  ivlio  are  happy ; 
as  for  other  men,  the  stagnation  of  night  is  around 
them.  Reflecting  minds  rarely  use  the  expressions 
“ the  happy  ” and  the  “ unhappy,”  for  in  this  world, 
which  is  e^^dently  the  vestibule  of  another,  there  are 
no  happy  beings.  The  true  human  di\dsion  is  into  the 
luminous  and  the  dark.  To  diminish  the  number  of 
the  dark,  and  augment  that  of  the  luminous,  is  the 
object ; and  that  is  why  we  cry,  “ Instruction  and 
learning ! ” Learning  to  read  is  lighting  the  fire. 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  SLANG. 


247 


aiul  every  syllable  spelled  is  a spark.  However,  when 
we  say  light,  we  do  not  necessarily  mean  joy ; for 
men  suffer  in  light,  and  excess  of  light  burns.  Flame 
is  the  enemy  of  the  wings,  and  to  burn  without 
ceasing  to  fly  is  the  v prodigy  of  genius.  When  you 
know  and  when  you  love,  you  will  still  suffer,  for  the 
day  is  born  in  tears,  and  the  luminous  weep,  be  it 
only  for  the  sake  of  those  in  darkness. 


CHAPTER  II. 


ROOTS. 

Slang  is  the  language  of  the  dark.  Thought  is 
affected  in  its  gloomiest  depths,  and  social  philoso- 
phy is  harassed  in  its  most  poignant  undulations,  in 
the  presence  of  this  enigmatical  dialect,  Avhich  is  at 
once  branded  and  in  a state  of  revolt.  There  is  in 
this  a visible  chastisement,  and  each  syllable  looks  as 
if  it  were  marked.  The  words  of  the  common  lan- 
guage appear  in  it,  as  if  branded  and  hardened  by 
the  hangman’s  red-hot  irons,  and  some  of  them  seem 
to  be  still  smoking ; some  phrases  produce  in  you 
the  effect  of  a robber’s  fleur-de-lysed  shoulder  sud- 
denly exposed,  and  ideas  almost  refuse  to  let  them- 
selves be  represented  by  these  convict  substantives. 
The  metaphors  are  at  times  so  daring  that  you  feel 
that  they  have  worn  fetters.  Still,  in  spite  of  all 
this,  and  in  consequence  of  all  this,  this  strange 
patois  has  by  right  its  compartment  in  that  great 
impartial  museum,  in  which  there  is  room  for  the 
oxydized  sou  as  well  as  the  gold  medal,  and  which 
is  called  toleration.  Slang,  whether  people  allow  it 
or  no,  has  its  syntax  and  poetry.  It  is  a language. 
If,  by  the  deforming  of  certain  vocables,  we  perceive 
that  it  has  been  chewed  by  Mandrin,  we  feel  from 


HOOTS. 


249 


certain  inetonyms  that  Villon  spoke  it.  That  line 
so  exquisite  and  so  celebrated,  — 

“ Mais  ou  sent  les  ueiges  d’antan  ? 

(But  where  are  the  snows  of  yester-year  ?)  ” 

is  a line  of  slang.  Antau,  ante  annum,  is  a slang 
word  of  Thunes,  which  signified  the  past  year,  and, 
by  extension,  formerly.  Five-and-thirty  years  ago, 
on  the  departure  of  the  great  chain-gang,  in  1827> 
there  might  be  read  in  one  of  the  dungeons  of 
Bic^tre  this  maxim,  engraved  with  a nail  upon  the 
wall  by  a king  of  Thunes  condemned  to  the  galleys, 
“ Les  dabs  d’antan  trimaient  siempre  pour  la  pierre 
du  Coesre,”  which  means,  “ The  kings  of  former  days 
used  always  to  go  to  be  consecrated.”  In  the 
thought  of  that  king,  the  consecration  was  the 
galleys.  The  word  d^carade,  which  expresses  the 
departure  of  a hea^’y  coach  at  a gallop,  is  attributed 
to  Villon,  and  is  worthy  of  him.  This  word,  which 
strikes  fire,  contains  in  a masterly  onomatopoeia  the 
whole  of  Lafontaine’s  admirable  line,  — 

“ Six  forts  ehevaux  tiraient  un  coche.” 

From  a purely  literary  point  of  view,  few  studies 
would  be  more  curious  or  fertile  than  that  of  slang. 
It  is  an  entire  language  within  a language,  a sort  of 
sickly  grafting  which  has  produced  a vegetation,  a 
parasite  which  has  its  roots  in  the  old  Gaulish  trunk, 
and  whose  sinister  foliage  crawls  up  the  whole  of 
one  side  of  the  language.  This  is  what  might  be 
called  the  first  or  common  notion  of  slang,  but  to 
those  who  study  the  language  as  it  should  be 


250 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


studied,  that  is  to  say,  as  geologists  study  the  earth, 
slang  appears  like  a real  alluvium.  According  as 
we  dig  more  or  less  deeply,  we  find  in  slang,  beneath 
the  old  popular  French,  Provencal,  Spanish,  Italian, 
Levantine,  that  language  of  the  jNIediterranean  ports, 
English,  and  German,  Romanic, — in  its  three  varieties 
of  French,  Italian,  and  Roman,  — Latin,  and  finally, 
Basque  and  Celtic.  It  is  a deep  and  strange  forma- 
tion, a subterranean  edifice  built  up  in  common  by 
all  scoundrels.  Each  accursed  race  has  deiiosited 
its  stratum,  each  suffering  has  let  its  stone  fall,  each 
heart  has  given  its  pebble.  A multitude  of  wicked, 
low,  or  irritated  souls  who  passed  through  life,  and 
have  faded  away  in  eternity,  are  found  there  almost 
entire,  and  to  some  extent  still  visible,  in  the  shape  of 
a monstrous  word. 

Do  you  want  Spanish  ? The  old  Gothic  slang 
swarms  with  it.  Thus  we  have  boffette,  a box  on 
the  ears,  whicli  comes  from  hofeton  ; vcmtane,  a win- 
dow (afterwards  vanterue),  from  vantana  ; gat,  a cat, 
from  gato ; acite,  oil,  from  aceyte.  Do  you  want 
Italian  ? We  have  spade,  a sword,  which  comes  from 
spada,  and  carvel,  a boat,  which  comes  from  carcv- 
vella.  From  the  English  we  have  bichot,  the  bishop  ; 
raille,  a spy,  from  rascal,  rascalion,  roguish ; and 
pilche,  a case,  from  2>ilcher,  a scabbard.  Of  German 
origin  are  caleur,  the  waiter,  from  kellner ; hers,  the 
master,  from  herzog,  or  duke.  In  Latin  we  find 
frangir,  to  break,  from  frangere ; affarer,  to  steal, 
from  fur ; and  cadene,  a chain,  from  catena.  There 
is  one  word  which  is  found  in  all  continental  lan- 
guage with  a sort  of  mysterious  power  and  authority. 


BOOTS. 


251 


and  that  is  the  word  magnus : Scotland  makes  mac 
of  it,  which  designates  the  chief  of  the  clan,  IMac 
Farlane,  Mac  Callumore,  the  great  Farlane,  the  great 
Callumore  ; slang  reduces  it  to  wiecA’,  afterwards  meg, 
that  is  to  say,  the  Deity.  Do  you  wish  for  Basque  ? 
Here  is  gahisto,  the  devil,  which  is  derived  from 
gaiztoa,  bad,  and  sorgabon,  good-night,  which  comes 
from  gahon,  good-evening.  In  Celtic  we  find  blavin, 
a handkerchief,  derived  from  blavet,  running  water ; 
m^nesse,  a woman  (in  a bad  sense),  from  meinec, 
full  of  stones  ; barant,  a stream,  from  baranton,  a 
fountain ; goffeur,  a locksmith,  from  goff,  a black- 
smith ; and  giMouze,  death,  which  comes  from 
guenn-du,  white  and  black.  Lastly,  do  you  wish 
jfor  history  ? Slang  calls  crowns  “ the  Maltese,”  in 
memory  of  the  coin  which  was  current  aboard  the 
Maltese  galleys. 

In  addition  to  the  philological  origins  which  we 
have  indicated,  slang  has  other  and  more  natural 
roots,  which  issue,  so  to  speak,  directly  from  the 
human  mind.  In  the  firet  place,  there  is  the  direct 
creation  of  words,  for  it  is  the  mystery  of  language 
to  paint  with  words  which  have,  we  know  not  how 
or  why,  faces.  This  is  the  primitive  foundation  of 
every  human  language,  or  what  might  be  called  the 
granite.  Slang  swarms  with  words  of  this  nature, 
immediate  words  created  all  of  one  piece ; it  is  im- 
possible to  say  when,  or  by  whom,  without  etymolo- 
gies, analogies,  or  derivatives,  — solitary,  barbarous, 
and  at  times  hideous  words,  which  have  a singu- 
lar power  of  expression,  and  are  alive.  The  execu- 
tioner, le  taule  (the  amfil’s  face) ; the  forest,  le  sabri 


252 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL, 


(cudgels);  fear  or  flight,  taf ; the  footman,  le  larhin ; 
the  general,  prefect,  or  minister,  pharos  (head  man)  ; 
and  the  devil,  le  rabouin  (the  one  nith  the  tail). 
Nothing  can  be  stranger  than  these  words,  which 
form  transparent  masks  ; some  of  them,  le  rabouin, 
for  instance,  are  at  the  same  time  grotesque  and 
terrible,  and  produce  the  effect  of  a Cyclopean  grim- 
ace. In  the  second  place,  there  is  metaphor,  and  it 
is  the  peculiarity  of  a language  which  wishes  to  say 
everything  and  conceal  everything,  to  abound  in 
figures.  Metaphor  is  an  enigma  in  which  the  robber 
who  is  scheming  a plot,  or  the  prisoner  arranging  an 
escape,  takes  the  refuge.  No  idiom  is  more  meta- 
phorical than  slang ; d^visser  (to  unscrew)  le  coco 
(the  cocoa-nut),  to  twist  the  neck  ; tortiller  (to  wind 
up),  to  eat ; etre  gerb4  (sheaved),  to  be  tried ; im 
rat,  a stealer  of  bread ; il  lansquine,  it  rains,  — an 
old  striking  figure,  which  bears  to  some  extent  its 
date  with  it,  assimilates  the  long  oblique  lines  of 
rain  to  the  serried  sloping  pikes  of  the  lansquenets, 
and  contains  in  one  word  the  popular  adage,  “ It 
is  raining  halberts.”  At  times,  in  proportion  as 
slang  passes  from  the  first  to  the  second  stage,  words 
pass  from  the  savage  and  primitive  state  to  the  meta- 
phorical sense.  The  devil  ceases  to  be  le  rabouin, 
and  becomes  “ the  baker,”  or  he  who  puts  in  the 
oven.  This  is  wittier  but  not  so  grand ; something 
like  Racine  after  Corneille,  or  Euripides  after  iEschy- 
lus.  Some  slang  phrases  which  belong  to  both  periods, 
and  have  at  once  a barbarous  and  a metaphorical 
character,  resemble  phantasmagorias  : Les  sorgueurs 
font  sollicer  des  gails  d la  lune  (the  prowlers  are 


ROOTS. 


253 


going  to  steal  horses  at  night).  This  passes  before 
the  mind  like  a group  of  spectres,  and  we  know  not 
what  we  see.  Thii'dly,  there  is  expediency : slang 
lives  upon  the  language,  uses  it  as  it  pleases,  and 
when  the  necessity  arises  limits  itself  to  denatural- 
izing it  summarily  and  coarsely.  At  times,  with  the 
ordinary  words  thus  deformed  and  complicated  with 
pure  slang,  picturesque  sentences  are  composed,  in 
which  the  admission  of  the  two  previous  elements, 
direct  creation  and  metaphor,  is  visible,  — le  cab 
jaspine,  je  marronne  que  la  ronlotte  cle  Pantin  trime 
dans  le  sabri,  (the  dog  barks,  I suspect  that  the  Paris 
diligence  is  passing  through  the  wood) ; le  dab  est 
sinve,  la  dabuge  est  merloussiere,  la  fee  est  bative, 
(the  master  is  stupid,  the  mistress  is  cunning,  and  the 
daughter  pretty).  JMost  frequently,  in  order  to  throw 
out  listeners,  slang  confines  itself  to  adding  indis- 
tinctly to  all  the  words  of  the  language,  a species 
of  ignoble  tail,  a termination  in  aille,  orgue,  iergue, 
or  nclie.  Thus  : Vouziergue  trouvaille  bonorgue  ce 
gigotmuche  ? (Do  you  find  that  leg  of  mutton  good?) 
This  was  a remark  made  by  Cartouche  to  a jailer,  iir 
order  to  learn  whether  the  sum  offered  him  for  an 
escape  suited  him.  The  termination  in  mar  has  been 
very  recently  added. 

Slang,  being  the  idiom  of  corruption,  is  itself 
quickly  corrupted.  Moreover,  as  it  always  tries  to 
hide  itself  so  soon  as  it  feels  that  it  is  understood, 
it  transforms  itself.  Exactly  opposed  to  all  other 
vegetables,  every  sunbeam  kills  what  it  falls  on  in 
it.  Hence  slang  is  being  constantly  decomposed  and 
re-composed ; and  this  is  an  obscure  and  rapid  labor 


254 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


wiiicli  never  ceases,  and  it  makes  more  way  in  ten 
years  than  language  does  in  ten  centuries.  Thus 
Icirton  (head)  becomes  lartif ; gail  (horse)  gciye  ; fer- 
tanche  (straw)  fertille ; monvignard  (the  child)  mo- 
macque ; fiqiies  (clothes)  friisqiies ; chiqiie  (the  church) 
V^grugeoir  ; and  colabre  (the  neck)  colas.  The  devil 
is  first  gahisto,  then  le  rabouiii,  and  next  “ the  baker ; ” 
a priest  is  the  ratichon,  and  then  the  sanglier ; a 
dagger  is  the  vingt-deux,  next  the  sitrin,  and  lastly 
the  lingre  ; the  police  are  rallies,  then  roussins,  then 
marclumds  de  lacet  (handcuff  dealers),  then  coqueurs, 
and  lastly  cognes  ; the  executioner  is  the  taule,  then 
Chariot,  then  the  atigeur,  and  then  the  becquillard. 
In  the  seventeenth  centui’y  to  fight  was  to  “ take 
snuff ; ” in  the  nineteenth  it  is  “ to  break  the  jaw  ; ” 
but  twenty  different  names  have  passed  away  between 
these  two  extremes,  and  Cartouche  would  speak 
Hebrew  to  Lacenaire.  All  the  words  of  this  language 
are  perpetually  in  flight,  like  the  men  who  employ 
them.  Still,  from  time  to  time,  and  owing  to  this 
very  movement,  the  old  slang  reappears  and  becomes 
new  again.  It  has  its  headquarters  where  it  holds 
its  ground.  The  Temple  preserved  the  slang  of  the 
seventeenth  century,  and  Bicetre,  when  it  was  a 
prison,  that  of  Thunes.  There  the  termination  in 
anche  of  the  old  Thuners  could  be  heard  : Boy- 
anches-tu  ? .(do  you  drink  ?) ; il  croyanche  (he  believes). 
But  perpetual  motion  does  not  the  less  remain  the 
law.  If  the  philosopher  succeeds  in  momentarily 
fixing,  for  the  purpose  of  observation,  this  language, 
which  is  necessarily  evaporating,  he  falls  into  sorrow- 
ful and  useful  meditations,  and  no  study  is  more 


BOOTS. 


255 


efficacious,  or  more  fertile  and  instructive.  There 
is  not  a metaphor  or  an  etymology  of  slang  which 
does  not  contain  a lesson. 

Among  these  men  “fighting”  means  “pretending:  ” 
they  “ fight  ” a disease,  for  cunning  is  their  strength. 
With  them  the  idea  of  man  is  not  separated  from 
the  idea  of  a shadow.  Night  is  called  la  sorgue 
and  man  Vorgiie:  man  is  a derivative  of  night. 
They  have  formed  the  habit  of  regarding  society  as 
an  atmosphere  which  kills  them,  as  a fatal  force,  and 
they  speak  of  their  liberty  as  one  speaks  of  his 
health.  A man  arrested  is  a “ patient ; ” a man  sen- 
tenced is  a “ corpse.”  The  most  terrible  thing  for 
the  prisoner  within  the  four  stone  walls  which  form 
his  sepnlchre  is  a sort  of  freezing  chastity,  and  hence 
he  always  calls  the  dungeon  the  castiis.  In  this 
funereal  place  external  life  will  appear  under  its  most 
smiling  aspect.  The  prisoner  has  irons  on  his  feet, 
and  you  may  perhaps  fancy  that  he  thinks  how  peo- 
ple walk  Avith  their  feet : no,  he  thinks  that  they 
dance  with  them,  hence,  if  he  succeed  in  cutting 
through  his  fetters,  his  first  idea  is  that  he  can  now 
dance,  and  he  calls  the  saw  a hastringue.  A name 
is  a centre,  a profound  assimilation.  The  bandit  has 
two  heads,  — the  one  which  revolves  his  deeds  and 
guides  him  through  life,  the  other  which  he  has  on 
his  shoulders  on  the  day  of  his  death  ; he  calls  the 
head  which  counsels  him  in  crime,  the  sorhonne,  and 
the  one  that  expiates  it  the  tronche.  When  a man 
has  nothing  but  rags  on  his  body  and  vices  in 
his  heart,  when  he  has  reached  that  double  moral 
and  material  degradation  which  the  word  gueux 


256 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


characterizes  in  its  two  significations,  he  is  ripe  for 
crime ; he  is  like  a well-sharpened  blade ; he  has 
two  edges,  his  distress  and  his  villany,  and  lienee 
slang  does  not  call  him  a giieux  but  a rdgais^. 
What  is  the  bagne  ? A furnace  of  damnation,  a hell, 
and  the  convict  calls  himself  a “ fagot.”  Lastly, 
what  name  do  malefactors  give  to  the  prison  ? The 
“ college.”  A whole  penitentiary  system  might  issue 
from  this  word. 

Would  you  like  to  know  whenee  came  most  of 
the  galley  songs,  — those  choruses  called  in  the 
special  vocabularies  the  Urlonfa  ? Listen  to  this  : 

There  was  at  the  Chatelet  of  Paris  a large  long 
cellar,  which  was  eight  feet  below  the  level  of  the 
Seine.  It  had  neither  windows  nor  gratings,  and 
the  sole  opening  was  the  door ; men  covdd  enter  it, 
but  air  not.  This  cellar  had  for  ceiling  a stone  arch, 
and  for  floor  ten  inches  of  mud  ; it  had  been  paved, 
but,  owing  to  the  leakage  of  the  water,  the  paving 
had  rotted  and  fallen  to  pieees.  Eight  feet  above 
the  ground,  a long  massive  joist  ran  from  one  end  to 
the  other  of  this  vault ; from  this  joist  hung  at 
regular  distances  chaijis,  three  feet  long,  and  at  the 
end  of  these  chains  ■were  eollars.  In  this  cellar  men 
condemned  to  the  galleys  were  kept  until  the  day  of 
their  departure  for  Toulon ; they  were  thrust  under 
this  beam,  where  each  had  his  fetters  oscillating  in 
the  darkness  and  waiting  for  him.  The  chains,  like 
pendant  arms,  and  the  collars,  like  open  hands,  seized 
tliese  wretches  by  the  neck ; they  were  riveted  and 
left  there.  As  the  chain  was  too  short,  they  could 
not  lie  down ; they  remained  motionless  in  this  cellar. 


ROOTS. 


■I'iJ 

in  this  night,  under  this  beam,  almost  hung,  forced 
to  make  extraordinary  eftbrts  to  reach  their  loaf  or 
water-jug,  with  the  vault  above  their  heads  and  mud 
up  to  their  knees,  drawn  and  quartered  by  fatigue, 
giving  way  at  the  hips  and  knees,  hanging  on  by  their 
hands  to  the  chain  to  rest  themselves,  only  able  to 
sleep  standing,  and  awakened  every  moment  by  the 
chokins:  of  the  collar  — some  did  not  awake.  To 
eaf  they  were  compelled  to  draw  up  their  bread, 
which  was  thrown  into  the  mud,  with  the  heel  all 
along  the  thigh  to  their  hand.  How  long  did  they 
remain  in  this  state  ? One  month,  two  months,  some- 
times six  months  ; one  man  remained  a year.  It 
was  the  antechamber  of  the  galleys,  and  men  were 
put  in  it  for  stealing  a hare  from  the  king.  In  this 
hellish  sepulchre  what  did  they  ? They  died  by  inches, 
as  people  can  do  in  a sepulchre,  and  sang,  which  they 
can  do  in  a hell ; for  when  there  is  no  longer  hope, 
song  remains,  — in  the  Maltese  waters,  when  a gal- 
ley was  approaching,  the  singing  was  heard  before 
the  sound  of  the  oars.  The  poor  poacher  Surviiicent, 
who  passed  through  the  cellar-prison  of  the  Cluttelet, 
said,  “ Rhymes  sustained  me.”  Poetry  is  useless ; 
what  is  the  good  of  rhymes  ? In  this  cellar  nearly 
all  the  slang  songs  were  born,  and  it  is  from  the 
dungeon  of  the  Great  Chjitelet  of  Paris  that  comes 
the  melancholy  chorus  of  Montgomery’s  galley : Ti- 
maloumisaine,  timoulamison.  Most  of  the  songs  are 
sad,  some  are  gay,  and  one  is  tender : — 

“ Icicaille  est  le  theatre 
Du  petit  darJant.”  ^ 

1 The  archer  Cupid. 

17 


VOL.  IV. 


258 


THE  HUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


Do  you  what  you  Avill,  you  cannot  destroy  that 
eternal  relic  of  man’s  heart,  love. 

In  this  world  of  dark  deeds  secrets  are  kept ; for 
secrets  are  a thing  belonging  to  all,  and  with  these 
wretehes  secrecy  is  the  unity  which  serves  as  the 
basis  of  union.  To  break  secrecy  is  to  tear  from 
each  member  of  this  ferocious  community  something 
of  himself.  To  denounce  is  called  in  the  energetic 
language  of  slang  “ to  eat  the  piece,”  as  if  the  de- 
nouncer took  a little  of  the  substance  of  eaeh,  and 
supported  himself  on  a piece  of  the  flesh  of  each. 
What  is  receiving  a buffet  ? The  conventional  meta- 
phor answers,  “ It  is  seeing  six-and-thirty  candles.” 
Here  slang  interferes  and  reads  camoufle  for  eandle  ; 
life  in  its  ordinary  language  takes  camoi(flet  as  a 
synonym  for  a box  on  the  ears.  Hence,  by  a sort  of 
penetration  from  bottom  to  top,  and  by  the  aid  of 
metaphor,  that  incalculable  trajectory,  slang  ascends 
from  the  cellar  to  the  academy,  and  Poulailler  say- 
ing, “ I light  my  camoufle,”  makes  Voltaire  write, 
“ Langleviel  la  Beaumelle  deserves  a hundred  camou- 
flets.”  Searehing  in  slang  is  a discovery  at  every 
step,  and  the  study  and  investigation  of  this  strange 
idiom  lead  to  the  point  of  intersection  of  regular 
with  accursed  society.  The  robber  has  also  his  food 
for  powder,  or  stealable  matter  in  you,  in  me,  in  the 
first  passer-by,  the  pantre  {pan,  everybody).  Slang 
is  the  word  converted  into  a conviet.  It  produces  a 
eonsternation  to  refleet  that  the  thinking  principle  of 
man  ean  be  hurled  down  so  deep  that  it  can  be  dragged 
there  and  bound  by  the  obscure  tyranny  of  fatality, 
and  be  fastened  to  some  unknown  rivets  on  this  preci- 


EOOTS. 


259 


pice.  Alas  ! will  no  one  come  to  the  help  of  the 
human  soul  in  this  darkness  ? Is  it  its  destiny  ever 
to  await  the  mind,  the  liberator,  the  immense  tamer 
of  Pegasuses  and  hippogriffs,  the  dawn-colored  com- 
batant, who  descends  from  the  azure  sky  between 
two  "wings,  the  radiant  knight  of  the  future  ? Will  it 
ever  call  in  vain  to  its  help  the  lance  of  the  light  of 
idealism  ? Is  it  condemned  always  to  look  down  into 
the  gulf  of  e\'il  and  see  closer  and  closer  to  it  be- 
neath the  hideous  water  the  demoniac  head,  this 
slavering  mouth,  and  this  serpentine  undulation  of 
claws,  swellings,  and  rings  ? Must  it  remain  there 
without  a gleam  of  hope,  left  to  the  horror  of  this 
formidable  and  vaguely  smelt  approach  of  the  mon- 
ster, shuddering,  mth  dishevelled  hair,  wringing  its 
arms,  forever  chained  to  the  rock  of  night,  a sombre 
Andromeda  white  and  naked  in  the  darkness  ? 


CHAPTER  III. 


SLANG  THAT  CRIES  AND  SLANG  THAT  LAUGHS. 

As  we  see,  the  whole  of  slang,  the  slang  of  four 
hundred  years  ago,  as  well  as  that  of  the  present 
day,  is  penetrated  by  that  gloomy  symbolic  spirit 
which  gives  to  every  word  at  one  moment  a piteous 
tone,  at  another  a menacing  air.  We  see  in  it  the 
old  ferocious  sorrow  of  those  beggars  of  the  Cour 
des  Miracles,  who  played  at  cards  with  packs  of 
their  own,  some  of  which  have  been  preserved  for 
us.  The  eight  of  clubs,  for  instance,  represented  a 
large  tree  bearing  eight  enormous  clover  leaves,  a so)-t 
of  fantastic  personification  of  the  forest.  At  the 
foot  of  this  tree  could  be  seen  a lighted  fire,  at 
which  three  hares  were  roasting  a game-keeper  on  a 
spit,  and  behind,  over  another  fire,  a steaming  cal- 
dron from  which  a dog’s  head  emerged.  Nothing  can 
be  more  lugubrious  than  these  reprisals  in  painting 
upon  a pack  of  cards,  in  the  face  of  the  pyres  for 
smugglers,  and  the  caldron  for  coiners.  The  various 
forms  which  thought  assumed  in  the  kingdom  of 
slang,  singing,  jests,  and  menaces,  all  had  this  impo- 
tent and  crushed  character.  All  the  songs  of  which 
a few  melodies  have  come  down  to  us  were  humble 
and  lamentable  enough  to  draw  tears.  The 


LAUGHES'G  SLANG  AND  CRYING  SLANG.  261 

(thief)  calls  himself  the  poor  p'egre  ; for  he  is  ahvajs 
the  hare  that  hides  itself,  the  mouse  that  escapes,  or 
the  bird  that  flies  away.  He  hardly  protests,  but 
restricts  himself  to  sighing,  aud  one  of  his  groaus 
has  reached  us : Je  rientrave  que  le  dail  comment 
meek,  le  daron  des  orgues,  pent  atiger  ses  monies  et 
ses  momignards,  et  les  locher  crihlant  sans  itre  agite 
lid  meme.  (I  do  uot  uuderstaud  how  God,  the 
Father  of  men,  can  torture  His  children  and  His 
grandchildren,  aud  hear  them  cry,  without  being  tor- 
tured Himself.)  The  UTetch,  whenever  he  has  time 
to  think,  makes  himself  little  before  the  law  and 
paltry  before  society ; he  lies  down  on  his  stomach, 
supplicates,  and  implores  pity,  and  we  can  see  that 
he  knows  himself  to  be  in  the  wi’ong. 

Toward  the  middle  of  the  last  century  a change 
took  place ; the  prison  songs,  and  choruses  of  the 
robbers  assumed,  so  to  speak,  an  insolent  and  jovial 
gesture.  The  larifla  was  substituted  for  the  plain- 
tive malurd,  aud  we  find  in  nearly  all  the  songs  of 
the  galleys,  the  hulks,  and  the  chain-gangs,  a diaboli- 
cal and  enigmatical  gayety.  We  hear  in  them  that 
shrill  and  leaping  chorus  which  seems  illumined  by  a 
phosphorescent  gleam,  and  appears  cast  into  the 
forest  by  a will-o’-the-wisp  playuig  the  fife  : — 

“ Mirlababi  surlababo 
Mirliton  riboniibette 
Surlababi  mirlababo 
Mirliton  ribonribo.” 

They  sang  this  while  cutting  a man’s  throat  in  a 
cellar  or  a thicket.  It  is  a serious  symptom  that  in 


262 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


the  eighteenth  century  the  old  melancholy  of  these 
desponding  classes  is  dissipated,  and  they  begin  to 
laugh  ; they  mock  the  great  “ meg  ” and  the  great 
"■dab”  (governor),  and  Louis  XV.  being  given  they 
call  the  King  of  France  the  Marquis  de  Pantin.  The 
wretches  are  nearly  gay,  and  a sort  of  dancing  light 
issues  from  them,  as  if  their  conscience  no  longer 
weighed  them  down.  These  lamentable  tribes  of 
darkness  no  longer  possess  the  despairing  audacity 
of  deeds,  but  the  careless  audacity  of  the  mind  ; this 
is  a sign  that  they  are  losing  the  feeling  of  their 
criminality,  and  finding  some  support,  of  which  they 
are  themselves  ignorant,  among  the  thinkers  and 
dreamers.  It  is  a sign  that  robbery  and  plunder  are 
beginning  to  be  filtered  even  into  doctrines  and 
sophisms,  so  as  to  lose  a little  of  their  ugliness,  and 
give  a good  deal  of  it  to  the  sophisms  and  the  doc- 
trine. Lastly,  it  is  a sign  of  a prodigious  and  speedy 
eruption,  unless  some  diversion  arise.  Let  us  halt 
here  for  a moment.  Whom  do  we  accuse  ? Is  it  the 
eighteenth  century  ? Is  it  her  philosophy  ? Certainly 
not.  The  work  of  the  eighteenth  century  is  healthy 
and  good ; and  the  Encyclopaedists  with  Diderot  at 
their  head,  the  physicists  under  Turgot,  the  philoso- 
phers led  by  Voltaire,  and  the  Utopists  commanded 
by  Rousseau,  are  four  sacred  legions.  The  immense 
advance  of  humanity  toward  the  light  is  due  to  them, 
and  they  are  the  four  advance  guards  of  the  hu- 
man races,  going  toward  the  four  cardinal  points  of 
progress,  — Diderot  toward  the  beautiful,  Turgot 
toward  the  useful,  Voltaire  toward  truth,  and  Rous- 
seau toward  justice.  But  by  the  side  of  and  below 


LAUGHING  SLANG  AND  CRYING  SLANG.  263 


the  philosophers  were  the  sophists,  — a venomous 
vegetation  mingled  with  a healthy  growth,  a hemlock 
in  the  virgin  forest.  While  the  hangman  was  burning 
on  the  gi-and  staircase  of  the  Palace  of  Justice  the 
grand  liberating  books  of  the  age,  writers  now  for- 
gotten were  publishing,  with  the  royal  privilege, 
strangely  disorganizing  books,  which  were  eagerly 
read  by  the  scoundrels.  Some  of  these  publications, 
patronized,  strange  to  say,  by  a prince,  will  be  found 
in  the  “ Bibliothfeque  secrete.”  These  facts,  pro- 
found but  unknown,  were  unnoticed  on  the  surface  ; 
but  at  times  the  very  obscurity  of  a fact  constitutes 
its  danger,  and  it  is  obscure  because  it  is  subterranean. 
Of  all  the  writers,  the  one  who  perhaps  dug  the  most 
unhealthy  gallery  at  that  day  in  the  masses  was 
Restif  de  la  Bretonne. 

This  work,  peculiar  to  all  Europe,  produced  greater 
ravages  in  Germany  than  anywhere  else.  In  Ger- 
many, during  a certain  period,  which  was  summed 
up  by  Schiller  in  his  famous  drama  of  The  Robbers, 
robbery  and  plunder  were  raised  into  a protest  against 
property  and  labor.  They  appropriated  certain  ele- 
mentary ideas,  specious  and  false,  apparently  just, 
and  in  reality  absurd,  wrapped  themselves  up  in 
these  ideas,  and  to  some  extent  disappeared  in  them, 
assumed  an  abstract  name,  and  passed  into  a theo- 
retical state,  and  in  this  way  circulated  among  the 
laborious,  suffering,  and  honest  masses,  without  even 
the  cognizance  of  the  imprudent  chemists  who  pre- 
pared the  mixture,  and  the  masses  that  accepted  it. 
Whenever  a fact  of  this  nature  is  produced  it  is  seri- 
ous. Suffering  engenders  passion ; and  while  the  pros- 


264 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


pevous  blind  tbeniselves,  or  go  to  sleep,  the  hatred  of 
the  unfortunate  classes  kindles  its  torch  at  some 
sullen  or  ill-constituted  mind  which  is  dreaming  in  a 
corner,  and  sets  to  work  examining  society.  The  ex- 
amination of  hatred  is  a terrible  thing.  Hence  come, 
if  the  misfortune  of  the  age  desires  it,  those  frightful 
commotions,  formerly  called  Jacqueries,  by  the  side 
of  which  purely  political  commotions  are  child’s-play, 
and  which  arc  no  longer  the  struggle  of  the  oppressed 
with  the  oppressor,  but  the  revolt  of  want  against 
comfort.  Everything  is  overthrown  at  such  a time. 
Insurrections  are  the  earthquakes  of  nations. 

The  French  Revolution,  that  immense  act  of  pro- 
bity, cut  short  this  peril,  which  was  perhaps  immi- 
nent in  Europe  toward  the  close  of  the  eighteenth 
century.  The  French  Revolution,  which  was  nothing 
but  the  ideal  armed  with  a sword,  rose,  and  by  the  same 
sudden  movement  closed  the  door  of  e\il  and  opened 
the  door  of  good.  It  disengaged  the  question,  pro- 
mulgated the  truth,  expelled  the  miasma,  ventilated 
the  age,  and  crowned  the  people.  We  may  say  that 
it  created  man  a second  time  by  giving  him  a second 
soul, — justice.  The  nineteenth  century  inherits  and 
profits  by  its  work,  and  at  the  present  day  the  social 
catastrophe  which  we  just  now  indicated  is  simply 
impossible.  Blind  is  lie  who  denounces  it,  a fool 
who  fears  it,  for  the  Revolution  is  the  vaccine  of 
insurrection.  Thanks  to  the  Revolution,  the  social 
conditions  are  altered,  and  the  feudal  and  monarchi- 
cal diseases  are  no  longer  in  our  blood.  There  is  no 
middle  age  left  in  our  constitution,  and  we  are  no 
longer  at  the  time  when  formidable  internal  commo- 


LAUGHING  SLANG  AND  CRYING  SLANG.  265 


tioiis  broke  out ; when  the  obseure  eourse  of  a dull 
sound  eould  be  heard  beneath  the  feet ; when  the 
earth  thrown  out  from  the  mole-holes  appeared  on 
the  surface  of  civilization  ; when  the  soil  cracked ; 
when  the  roof  of  caverns  opened,  and  monstrous 
heads  suddenly  emerged  from  the  ground.  The 
revolutionary  sense  is  a moral  sense,  and  the  feeling 
of  right  being  developed,  develops  the  feeling  of 
duty.  The  law  of  all  is  liberty,  which  ends  where 
the  liberty  of  another  begins,  according  to  Robes- 
pierre’s admirable  definition.  Since  1789  the  whole 
people  has  been  dilated  in  the  sublimated  individual. 
There  is  no  poor  man  who,  having  his  riglit,  has  not  his 
radius  ; tlie  man,  dying  of  hunger,  feels  within  himself 
the  honesty  of  France.  The  dignity  of  the  citizen 
is  an  internal  armor  ; the  man  who  is  free  is  scrupu- 
lous, and  the  voter  reigns.  Hence  comes  incorrup- 
tibility ; hence  comes  the  abortiv'eness  of  unhealthy 
covetousness,  and  hence  eyes  heroically  lowered  be- 
fore temptation.  The  revolutionary  healthiness  is  so 
great,  that  on  a day  of  deliverance,  a 14th  of  July,  or 
a 10th  of  August,  there  is  no  populace,  and  the  first 
cry  of  the  enlightened  and  progressing  crowds  is, 
“ Death  to  the  robbers ! ” Progress  is  an  honest 
man,  and  the  ideal  and  the  absolute  do  not  steal 
pocket-handkerchiefs.  By  whom  were  the  carriages 
containing  the  wealth  of  the  Tuileries  escorted  in 
1848?  By  the  rag-pickers  of  the  Faubourg  St. 
Antoine.  The  rag  mounted  guard  over  the  treasure. 
Virtue  rendered  these  ragged  creatures  resplendent. 
In  these  carts,  in  barely  closed  chests,  — some,  indeed, 
still  opened,  — there  was,  amid  a hundred  dazzling 


266 


THE  EUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


cases,  that  old  crown  of  France,  all  made  of  diamonds, 
surmounted  by  the  royal  carbuncle  and  the  Regent 
diamonds,  worth  thirty  millions  of  francs  ; barefooted 
they  guarded  this  crown.  Hence  Jacquerie  is  no 
longer  possible,  and  I feel  sorry  for  the  clever  men  ; 
it  is  an  old  fear  which  has  made  its  last  effort,  and 
could  no  longer  be  employed  in  politics.  The  great 
spring  of  the  red  spectre  is  now  broken.  Every- 
body understands  this  now.  The  scarecrow  no 
longer  horrifies.  The  birds  treat  the  manikin  fa- 
miliarly, and  deposit  their  guano  upon  it,  and  the 
bourgeois  laugh  at  it. 


I 


CHAPTER  IV. 


TTVO  DUTIES  : TO  WATCH  AXD  TO  HOPE. 

This  being  the  case,  is  every  social  danger  dissi- 
pated ? Certainly  not.  There  is  no  Jacquerie,  and 
society  may  be  reassured  on  that  side ; the  blood  will 
not  again  rush  to  its  head,  but  it  must  pay  attention 
to  the  way  in  which  it  breathes.  Apoplexy  is  no 
longer  to  be  apprehended,  but  there  is  consumption, 
and  social  consumption  is  called  wretchedness.  Peo- 
ple die  as  well  when  undermined  as  when  struck  by 
lightning.  AYe  shall  never  grow  weary  of  repeating, 
that  to  think  first  of  all  of  the  disinherited  and  sor- 
rowful classes,  to  relieve,  ventilate,  enlighten,  and 
love  them,  to  magnificently  enlarge  their  horizon, 
to  la\ish  upon  them  education  in  every  shape,  to 
offer  them  the  example  of  labor,  and  never  that  of 
indolence,  to  lessen  the  weight  of  the  iudmdual  bur- 
den by  increasing  the  notion  of  the  universal  object, 
to  limit  poverty  without  limiting  wealth,  to  create 
vast  fields  of  public  and  popular  actmty,  to  have, 
like  Briareus,  a hundred  hands  to  stretch  out  on  all 
sides  to  the  crushed  and  the  weak,  to  employ  the 
collective  power  in  opening  workshops  for  every  arm, 
schools  for  every  aptitude,  and  laboratories  for  every 
intellect,  to  increase  wages,  diminish  the  toU,  and 


268 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


balance  the  debit  and  credit,  that  is  to  say,  propor- 
tion the  enjoyment  to  the  effort,  and  the  satisfaction 
to  the  ■wants,  — in  a word,  to  evolve  from  the  social 
machine,  on  behalf  of  those  -who  suffer  and  those 
■who  are  ignorant,  more  light  and  more  comfort,  — is, 
and  sympathetic  souls  must  not  forget  it,  the  first  of 
brotherly  obligations,  and,  let  egotistic  hearts  learn 
the  fact,  the  first  of  political  necessities.  And  all 
this,  we  are  bound  to  add,  is  only  a beginning,  and 
the  true  question  is  this,  labor  cannot  be  law,  with- 
out being  a right.  But  this  is  not  the  place  to  dwell 
on  such  a subject. 

If  nature  is  called  Prowdence,  society  ought  to 
call  itself  foresight.  Intellectual  and  moral  growth 
is  no  less  indispensable  than  physical  improvement ; 
knowledge  is  a viaticum  ; thinking  is  a primary  ne- 
cessity, and  truth  is  nourishment,  like  wheat.  A 
reason  fasting  for  knowledge  and  wisdom  grows 
thin,  and  we  must  pity  minds  that  do  not  eat  quite 
as  much  as  stomachs.  If  there  be  anything  more 
poignant  than  a body  pining  away  for  want  of  bread, 
it  is  a mind  that  dies  of  hunger  for  enlightenment. 
The  whole  of  our  progress  tends  toward  the  solution, 
and  some  day  people  will  be  stupefied.  As  the 
human  race  ascends,  the  deepest  strata  will  naturally 
emerge  from  the  zone  of  distress,  and  the  effacement 
of  wretchedness  Avill  be  effected  by  a simple  elevation 
of  the  level.  We  would  do  ■wrong  to  doubt  this 
blessed  solution.  The  past,  we  grant,  is  very  power- 
fnl  at  the  present  hour,  and  is  beginning  again. 
This  rejuvenescence  of  a corpse  is  surprising.  It 
seems  ■victorious ; this  dead  man  is  a conqueror. 


TWO  DUTIES  ; TO  WATCH  AND  TO  HOPE.  269 


Behold  hiui  advancing  and  arriving  ! he  ai-rives  with 
his  legion,  superstitions  ; with  his  sword,  despotism ; 
with  his  barrier,  ignoranpe ; and  during  some  time 
past  he  has  gained  ten  battles.  advances,  he 
threatens,  he  laughs,  he  is  at  our  gates.  But  we 
have  no  reason  to  despair ; let  us  sell  the  field  on 
which  Hannibal  is  encamped.  What  can  we,  who 
believe,  fear  ? A recoil  of  ideas  is  no  more  possible 
than  it  is  for  a river  to  flow  up  a hill.  But  those 
who  desire  no  future  ought  to  reflect ; by  saying  no 
to  progress  they  do  not  condemn  the  future,  but 
themselves ; and  they  give  themselves  a deadly  dis- 
ease by  inoculating  themselves  with  the  past.  There 
is  only  one  way  of  refusing  to-morrow,  and  that  is, 
by  dying.  We  wish  for  no  death,  — that  of  the 
body  as  late  as  possible,  and  that  of  the  soul  never. 
Yes,  the  sphinx  will  speak,  and  the  problem  will  be 
solved ; the  people  sketched  by  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury will  be  finished  by  the  nineteenth.  He  is  an 
idiot  who  doubts  it.  The  future,  the  speedy  burst- 
ing into  flower  of  universal  welfare,  is  a divinely 
fatal  phenomenon.  Immense  and  combined  impul- 
sions pushing  together  govern  human  facts,  and  lead 
them  all  within  a given  time  to  the  logical  state,  that 
is  to  say,  to  equilibrium,  or  in  other  words,  to  equity. 
A force  composed  of  earth  and  heaven  results  from 
humanity  and  governs  it ; this  force  is  a performer  of 
miracles,  and  marvellous  denouements  are  as  easy 
to  it  as  extraordinary  incidents.  Aided  by  science, 
which  comes  from  man,  and  the  event,  which  comes 
from  another  source,  it  is  but  little  frightened  by 
those  contradictions  in  the  posture  of  problems  which 


270 


THE  EUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


seera  to  the  vulgar  herd  impossibilities.  It  is  no  less 
skilful  in  producing  a solution  from  the  approxima- 
tion of  ideas  than  in  producing  instruction  from  the 
approximation  of  facts,  and  we  may  expect  anything 
and  everything  from  the  mysterious  power  of  pro- 
gress, which,  some  fine  day,  confronts  the  East  and 
the  West  in  a sepulchre,  and  makes  the  Imans  hold 
conference  with  Bonaparte  in  the  interior  of  the 
Great  Pyramid.  In  the  meanwhile,  there  is  no  halt, 
no  hesitation,  no  check,  in  the  grand  forward  march  of 
minds.  Social  philosophy  is  essentially  the  science  of 
peace  ; it  has  for  its  object,  and  must  have  as  result, 
the  dissolution  of  passions  by  the  study  of  antago- 
nisms. It  examines,  scrutinizes,  and  analyzes,  and 
then  it  recomposes  ; and  it  proceeds  by  the  reducing 
process,  by  removing  hatred  from  everything. 

It  has  more  than  once  occurred,  that  a society  has 
been  sunk  by  the  wind  which  is  let  loose  on  men. 
History  is  full  of  the  shipwrecks  of  peoples  and  em- 
pires ; one  day,  that  stranger,  the  hurricane,  passes, 
and  carries  away  manners,  laws,  and  religions.  The 
civilizations  of  India,  Chaldma,  Persia,  Assyria,  and 
Egypt  have  disappeared  in  turn  ; why  ? We  are 
ignorant.  What  are  the  causes  of  these  disasters  ? 
We  do  not  know.  Could  those  societies  have  been 
saved  ? Was  it  any  fault  of  their  own  ? Did  they 
obstinately  adhere  to  some  fatal  vice  which  destroyed 
them  ? What  amount  of  suicide  is  there  in  these 
terrible  deaths  of  a nation  and  a race  ? These  are 
unanswerable  questions,  for  darkness  covers  the  con- 
demned civilizations.  They  have  been  under  water 
since  they  sank,  and  we  have  no  more  to  say ; and  it 


TWO  DUTIES  : TO  WATCH  AND  TO  HOPE.  271 

is  with  a species  of  terror  that  we  see  in  the  back- 
ground of  that  sea  which  is  called  the  past,  and 
behind  those  gloomy  waves,  centuries,  those  immense 
vessels,  — Babylon,  Nineveh,  Tarsus,  Thebes,  and 
Rome,  — sunk  by  the  terrific  blast  which  blows  from 
all  the  mouths  of  the  darkness.  But  there  was 
darkness  then,  and  we  have  light ; and  if  we  are 
ignorant  of  the  diseases  of  ancient  civilizations,  we 
know  the  infirmities  of  our  own,  and  we  contemplate 
its  beauties  and  lay  bare  its  deformities.  Wherever 
it  is  wounded  we  probe  it ; and  at  once  the  suffering 
is  decided,  and  the  study  of  the  cause  leads  to  the 
discovery  of  the  remedy.  Our  civilization,  the  work 
of  twenty  centuries,  is  at  once  the  monster  and  the 
prodigy,  and  is  worth  saving  ; it  will  be  saved.  To 
aid  it  is  much,  and  to  enlighten  it  is  also  something. 
All  the  labors  of  modern  social  pliilosophy  ought  to 
converge  to  this  object;  and  the  thinker  of  the  pres- 
ent day  has  a grand  duty  to  apply  the  stethoscope 
to  civilization.  We  repeat  it,  this  auscultation  is 
encouraging ; and  we  intend  to  finish  these  few 
pages,  which  are  an  austere  interlude  in  a mournful 
drama,  by  laying  a stress  on  this  encouragement. 
Beneath  the  social  mortality  the  human  imperish- 
ableness is  felt.  The  globe  does  not  die  because  of 
wounds  here  and  there  in  the  shape  of  craters  and 
eruptions  of  sulphur,  nor  of  a volcano  that  bursts 
forth  and  scatters  purulent  matter.  The  diseases  of 
the  people  do  not  kill  man. 

And  yet,  whoever  follows  the  social  clinics  will 
shake  his  head  at  times ; and  the  strongest,  the 
most  tender,  and  the  most  logical,  have  their  hours 


2/2 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


of  despondency.  Will  the  future  arrive  ? It  seems 
as  if  we  may  almost  ask  this  question  on  seeing 
so  much  terrible  shadow.  There  is  a sombre,  face- 
to-face  meeting  of  the  egotists  and  the  wretched. 
In  the  egotist  we  trace  prejudices,  the  cloudiness  of 
a caste  education,  appetite  growing  with  intoxication, 
and  prosperity  that  stuns,  a fear  of  suffering  which 
in  some  goes  so  far  as  an  aversion  to  the  sufferers, 
an  implacable  satisfaction,  and  the  feeling  of  self  so 
swollen  that  it  closes  the  soul.  In  the  wretched  we 
find  covetousness,  eny,  the  hatred  of  seeing  others 
successful,  the  great  bounds  of  the  human  beast 
toward  gorging,  hearts  full  of  mist,  sorrow,  want, 
fatality,  and  foul  and  common  ignorance.  IMust 
we  still  raise  our  eyes  to  heaven  ? Is  the  luminous 
point  which  we  notice  there  one  of  those  which  die 
out  ? The  ideal  is  frightful  to  look  on  thus  lost  in 
the  depths,  small,  isolated,  imperceptible,  and  bril- 
liant, but  surrounded  by  all  those  great  black  men- 
aces monstrously  collected  around  it ; for  all  that, 
though,  it  is  in  no  more  danger  than  a star  in  the 
yawning  throat  of  the  clouds. 


BOOK  VIII. 


ENCHANTMENTS  AND  DESOLATIONS. 


CHAPTER  1. 

BRIGHT  LIGHT. 

The  reader  has  of  course  understood  that  Eponine, 
on  recognizing  tlirough  the  railings  the  inhabitant  of 
the  house  in  the  Rue  Plumet,  to  which  Magnon  sent 
her,  began  by  keeping  the  bandits  aloof  from  the 
house,  then  led  Marius  to  it ; and  that  after  several 
days  of  ecstasy  before  the  railings,  Marius,  impelled 
by  that  force  which  attracts  iron  to  the  loadstone,  and 
the  lover  toward  the  stones  of  the  house  in  which 
she  whom  he  loves  resides,  had  eventually  entered 
Cosette’s  garden,  as  Romeo  did  Juliet’s.  This  had 
even  been  an  easier  task  for  him  than  for  Romeo  ; for 
Romeo  was  obliged  to  scale  a wall,  while  Marius  had 
merely  to  move  one  of  the  bars  of  the  decrepit  railing 
loose  in  its  rusty  setting,  after  the  fashion  of  the  teeth 
of  old  people.  As  Marius  was  thin,  he  easily  passed. 
As  there  never  was  anybody  in  the  street,  and  as 
IMarius  never  entered  the  garden  save  at  night,  he 
ran  no  risk  of  being  seen.  1 From  that  blessed  and 
holy  hour  when  a kiss  affianced  these  two  souls, 

VOL.  IV.  18 


274 


THE  EUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


INIarius  went  to  tlie  garden  every  night.  w,  at  this 
moment  of  her  life,  Cosette  had  fallen  in  love  with 
an  unscrupulous  libertine,  she  would  have  been  lost; 
for  there  are  generous  natures  that  surrender  them- 
selves, and  Cosette  was  one  of  them.  One  of  the 
magnanimities  of  a woman  is  to  yield ; and  love,  at 
that  elevation  where  it  is  absolute,  is  complicated  by 
a certain  celestial  blindness  of  modesty.  But  what 
dangers  you  incur,  ye  noble  souls ! You  often  give 
the  heart  and  we  take  the  body  ; your  heart  is  left 
you,  and  you  look  at  it  in  the  darkness  with  a shud- 
der. Love  has  no  middle  term  : it  either  saves  or 
destroys,  and  this  dilemma  is  tlie  whole  of  human 
destiny.  No  fatality  offers  this  dilemma  of  ruin  or 
salvation  more  inexorably  than  does  love,  for  love 
is  life,  if  it  be  not  death ; it  is  a cradle,  but  also  a 
coffin.  The  same  feeling  says  yes  and  no  in  the 
human  heart,  and  of  all  the  things  which  Cod  has 
made,  the  human  heart  is  the  one  which  evolves  the 
most  light,  and,  alas ! the  most  darkness.  God 
willed  it  that  the  love  which  Cosette  encountered 
was  one  of  those  loves  which  save.  So  long  as 
the  month  of  May  of  that  year,  1832,  lasted, 
there  were  every  night  in  this  poor  untrimined  gar- 
den, and  under  this  thicket,  which  daily  becaine 
more  fragrant  and  more  thick,  two  beings  composed 
of  all  the  chastities  and  all  the  innocences,  overflow- 
ing with  all  the  felicities  of  heaven,  nearer  to  the 
archangels  than  to  man,  pure,  honest,  intoxicated, 
and  radiant,  and  who  shone  for  each  other  in  the 
darkness.  It  seemed  to  Cosette  as  if  INIarius  had  a 
crown,  and  to  Marius  as  if  Cosette  had  a glory. 


BRIGHT  LIGHT. 


2/5 


They  touched  each  other,  tliey  looked  at  each  other, 
they  took  each  other  by  the  hand,  they  drew  close 
to  each  other ; but  tliere  was  a distance  which  they 
never  crossed.  Not  that  they  respected  it,  but  they 
were  ignorant  of  it.  INIarius  felt  a barrier  in 
Cosette’s  purity,  and  Cosette  felt  a support  in  the 
loyalty  of  Marius.  The  first  kiss  had  also  been  the 
last ; since  then  INIarius  had  never  gone  beyond 
touching  Cosette’s  hand  or  neck-handkerchief,  or  a 
curl  with  his  lips.  Cosette  was  to  him  a peifume, 
and  not  a woman,  and  he  inhaled  her.  She  refused 
nothing,  and  he  asked  for  nothing ; Cosette  was 
happy  and  Marius  satisfied.  They  lived  in  that 
ravishing  state  which  might  be  called  the  dazzling 
of  a soul  by  a soul ; it  was  the  ineffable  first  em- 
brace of  two  \irginities  in  the  ideal,  two  swans 
meeting  on  the  Jungfrau.  At  this  hour  of  love,  the 
hour  when  voluptuousness  is  absolutely  silenced  by 
the  omnipotence  of  ecstasy,  INIarius,  the  pure  and 
seraphic  Marius,  would  have  sooner  been  able  to 
go  home  with  a street-walker  than  raise  Cosette’s 
gown  as  high  as  her  ankle.  Once  in  the  moonlight 
Cosette  stooped  to  pick  up  something  on  the  ground, 
and  her  dress  opened  and  displayed  her  neck. 
INIarius  turned  his  eyes  away. 

What  passed  between  these  two  lovers  ? Nothing ; 
they  adored  each  other.  At  night,  wiien  they  w’ere 
there,  this  garden  seemed  a living  and  sacred  spot. 
All  the  flowers  opened  around  them  and  sent  them 
their  incense  ; and  they  opened  their  souls  and  spread 
them  over  the  flowers.  The  wanton  and  vigorous 
vegetation  quivered,  full  of  sap  and  intoxication. 


276 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


around  these  two  innocents,  and  they  uttered  words 
of  love  at  which  the  trees  shivered.  What  were 
these  words  ? Breathings,  nothing  more  ; but  they 
were  sufficient  to  trouble  and  affect  all  this  nature. 
It  is  a magic  power  which  it  would  be  difficult  to 
understand,  were  we  to  read  in  a book  this  conver- 
sation made  to  be  cariied  away  and  dissipated  like 
smoke  beneath  the  leaves  by  the  wind.  Take  away 
from  these  whispers  of  two  lovers  the  melody  wliich 
issues  from  the  soul,  and  accompanies  them  like  a 
lyre,  and  what  is  left  is  only  a shadow,  and  you  say, 
“ What ! is  it  only  that  ? ” Well,  yes,  child’s-play, 
repetitions,  laughs  at  nothing,  absurdities,  foolish- 
ness, — all  that  is  the  most  sublime  and  profound  in 
the  world ! the  only  things  which  are  worth  the 
trouble  of  being  said  and  being  listened  to.  The 
man  who  has  never  heard,  the  man  who  has  never 
uttered  these  absurdities  and  poor  things  is  an 
imbecile  and  a wicked  man.  Said  Cosette  to 
Marius,  — 

“ Do  you  know  that  my  name  is  Euphrasie  ? ” 

“ Euphrasie  ? No,  it  is  Cosette.” 

“ Oh,  Cosette  is  an  ugly  name,  which  was  given 
me  when  I was  little  ; but  my  real  name  is  Euphrasie, 
Don’t  you  like  that  name  ? ” 

■ ‘ Yes  ; but  Cosette  is  not  ugly.” 

“ Do  you  like  it  better  than  Euphrasie  ? ” 

“ Well  — yes.” 

“ In  that  case,  I like  it  better  too.  That  is  true, 
Cosette  is  pretty.  Call  me  Cosette.” 

Another  time  she  looked  at  him  intently,  and 
exclaimed,  — 


BRIGHT  LIGHT. 


277 


“ You  are  handsome,  sir  ; you  are  good-looking  ; 
you  have  wit ; you  are  not  at  all  stupid  ; you  are 
much  more  learned  than  I ; but  I challenge  you  with, 
‘ I love  you.’  ” 

And  Marius  fancied  that  he  heard  a strophe  sung 
by  a star.  Or  else  she  gave  him  a little  tap  when 
he  coughed,  and  said, — 

“ Do  not  cough,  sir ; I do  not  allow  anybody  to 
cough  in  my  house  without  permission.  It  is  very 
wrong  to  cough  and  frighten  me.  I wish  you  to 
be  in  good  health,  because  if  you  were  not  I should 
be  very  unhappy,  and  what  would  you  have  me 
do?” 

And  this  was  simply  dhune. 

Once  Marius  said  to  Cosette,  — 

“ Just  fancy ; I supposed  for  a while  that  your 
name  was  Ursule.” 

This  made  them  laugh  the  whole  evening.  In 
the  middle  of  another  conversation  he  happened  ■ to 
exclaim,  — 

“ Oh  ! one  day  at  the  Luxembourg  I felt  disposed 
to  finish  breaking  an  invalid  ! ” 

But  he  stopped  short,  and  did  not  complete  the 
sentence,  for  he  would  have  been  obliged  to  aUude 
to  Cosette’s  garter,  and  that  was  impossible.  There 
was  a strange  feeling  connected  with  the  flesh,  before 
which  this  immense  innocent  love  recoiled  with  a 
sort  of  holy  terror.  Marius  imagined  life  wdth  Cosette 
like  this,  without  anything  else,  — to  come  every  even- 
ing to  the  Rue  Plumet,  remove  the  old  complacent 
bar  of  the  president’s  railings,  sit  down  elbow  to 
elbow  on  this  bench,  look  through  the  trees  at  the 


278 


THE  KUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


scintillation  of  the  commencing  night,  bring  the  fold 
in  his  trouser-knee  into  cohabitation  with  Cosette’s 
ample  skirts,  to  caress  her  thumb-nail,  and  to  inhale 
the  same  flower  in  turn  forever  and  indeflnitely. 
During  this  time  the  clouds  passed  over  their  heads  ; 
and  each  time  the  wind  blows  it  carries  off  more 
of  a man’s  thoughts  than  of  clouds  from  the  sky. 
We  cannot  affirm  that  this  chaste,  almost  stern  love 
was  absolutely  without  gallantry.  “ Paying  com- 
pliments ” to  her  whom  we  love  is  the  first  way  of 
giving  caresses  and  an  attempted  semi-boldness.  A 
compliment  is  something  like  a kiss  through  a veil, 
and  pleasure  puts  its  sweet  point  upon  it,  while  con- 
cealing itself.  In  the  presence  of  the  delight  the 
heart  recoils  to  love  more.  The  cajoleries  of  Marius, 
all  saturated  with  chimera,  were,  so  to  speak,  of  an 
azure  blue.  The  birds  when  they  fly  in  the  direction 
of  the  angels  must  hear  words  of  the  same  nature, 
still,  life,  humanity,  and  the  whole  amount  of  posi- 
tivism of  which  Marius  was  capable  were  mingled 
with  it.  It  was  what  is  said  in  the  grotto,  as  a 
prelude  to  what  will  be  said  in  the  alcove,  — a lyrical 
effusion,  the  strophe  and  the  sonnet  commingled, 
the  gentle  hyperboles  of  cooing,  all  the  refinements 
of  adoration  arranged  in  a posy,  and  exhaling  a subtle 
and  celestial  perfume,  an  ineffable  prattling  of  heart 
to  heart. 

“ Oh  ! ” Marius  muttered,  “ how  lovely  you  are  ! 
I dare  not  look  at  you,  and  that  is  the  reason  why 
I contemplate  you.  You  are  a grace,  and  I know 
not  what  is  the  matter  with  me.  The  hem  of  your 
dress,  where  the  end  of  your  slipper  passes  through. 


BRIGHT  LIGHT. 


279 


u2Dsets  me.  And  then,  what  an  enchanting  light 
when  your  thoughts  become  visible,  for  your  reason 
astonishes  me,  and  you  apjjear  to  me  for  instants 
to  be  a dream.  Speak,  I am  listening  to  you,  and 
admiring  you.  Oh,  Cosette,  how  strange  and  charm- 
ing it  is  ; I am  really  mad.  You  are  adorable,  and 
I study  your  feet  in  the  microscojDe  and  your  soul 
with  the  telescope.” 

And  Cosette  made  answer,  — • 

“ And  I love  you  a little  more  through  all  the 
time  which  has  passed  since  this  morning.” 

Questions  and  answers  went  on  as  they  could  in 
‘this  dialogue,  which  always  agreed  in  the  subject 
of  love,  like  the  elder-pith  balls  on  the  nail.  Cosette’s 
entire  person  was  simplicity,  ingenuousness,  whiteness, 
candor,  and  radiance ; and  it  might  have  been  said 
of  her  that  she  was  transparent.  She  produced  on 
every  one  who  saw  her  a sensation  of  April  and  day- 
break, and  she  had  dew  in  her  eyes.  Cosette  was 
a condensation  of  the  light  of  dawn  in  a woman’s 
form.  It  was  quite  simple  that  ^Marius,  as  he  adored, 
should  admire.  But  the  truth  is,  that  this  little 
boarding-school  Miss,  just  freshly  turned  out  of  a 
convent,  talked  with  exqnisite  penetration,  and  made 
at  times  aU  sorts  of  true  and  delicate  remarks.  Her 
chattering  was  conversation ; and  she  was  never 
mistaken  about  anything,  and  conversed  correctly. 
Woman  feejs  and  speaks  vdth  the  infallibility  which 
is  the  tender  instinct  of  the  heart.  No  one  knows 
like  a woman  how  to  say  things  which  are  at  once 
gentle  and  deep.  Gentleness  and  depth,  in  those 
things  the  whole  of  woman  is  contained,  and  it  is 


280 


THE  RUE  PLUxMET  IDYLL. 


hea  ven.  And  in  this  perfect  felicity  tears  welled  in 
then  eyes  at  every  moment.  A iady-bird  crushed, 
a feather  that  fell  from  a nest,  a branch  of  hawthorn 
broken,  moved  their  pity,  and  then  ecstasy,  gently 
drowned  by  melancholy,  seemed  to  ask  for  nothing 
better  than  to  weep.  The  most  sovereign  symptom 
of  love  is  a tenderness  which  becomes  at  times  almost 
insupportable.  And  by  the  side  of  all  this  — for  con- 
tradictions are  the  lightning  sport  of  love  — they  were 
fond  of  laughing  with  a ravishing  liberty,  and  so 
familiarly  that,  at  times,  they  almost  seemed  like  two 
lads.  Still,  even  without  these  two  hearts  intoxi- 
cated with  chastity  being  conscious  of  it,  unforgettable 
nature  is  ever  there,  ever  there  with  its  brutal  and  sub- 
lime object ; and  whatever  the  innocence  of  souls  may 
be,  they  feel  in  the  most  tete-a-tete  the  mys- 

terious and  adorable  distinction  which  separates  a 
couple  of  lovers  from  a pair  of  friends. 

They  idolized  each  other.  The  permanent  and  the 
immutable  exist,  — a couple  love,  they  laugh,  they 
make  little  pouts  with  their  lips,  they  intertwine 
their  fingers,  and  that  does  not  prevent  eternity. 
Two  lovers  conceal  themselves  in  a garden  in  the 
twilight,  in  the  invisible,  with  the  birds  and  the 
roses ; they  fascinate  each  other  in  the  darkness  with 
their  souls  which  they  place  in  their  eyes ; they  mut- 
ter, they  whisper,  and  during  this  period  immense 
constellations  of  planets  fill  infinity.  ^ 


CHAPTER  II. 


THE  GIDDINESS  OF  PERFECT  BLISS. 

CosETTE  and  Marius  lived  vaguely  in  the  intoxi- 
cation of  their  madness,  and  they  did  not  notice  the 
cholera  which  w'as  decimating  Paris  in  that  very 
month.  They  had  made  as  many  confessions  to  each 
other  as  they  could  ; but  they  had  not  extended  very 
far  beyond  their  names.  Marius  had  told  Cosette 
that  he  was  an  orphan,  Pontmercy  by  name,  a lawyer 
by  profession,  and  gaining  a livelihood  by  writing 
things  for  publishers ; his  father  was  a colonel,  a 
hero,  and  he,  IMarius,  had  quarrelled  with  his  grand- 
father, who  was  very  rich.  He  also  incidentally  re- 
marked that  he  was  a baron  ; but  this  did  not  produce 
much  effect  on  Cosette.  Marius  a baron  ? She  did 
not  understand  it,  and  did  not  know'  wdiat  the  word 
meant,  and  Marius  was  Marius  to  her.  For  her 
part,  she  confided  to  him  that  she  had  been  edu- 
cated at  the  convent  of  the  Little  Picpus ; that  her 
mother  was  dead,  like  his  ; that  her  father’s  name 
Avas  Fauchelevent,  that  he  was  very  good  and  gave 
a great  deal  to  the  poor,  but  was  himself  poor,  and 
deprived  himself  of  everything,  while  depriving  her 
of  nothing.  Strange  to  say,  in  the  kind  of  symphony 
w'hich  Marius  had  lived  iu  since  he  found  Cosette 


282 


THE  EUE  PLUxMET  IDYLL. 


again,  the  past,  even  the  most  recent,  had  become 
so  confused  and  distant  to  him  that  what  Cosette 
told  him  completely  satisfied  him.  He  did  not  even 
dream  of  talking  to  her  about  the  nocturnal  adventure 
in  the  garret,  the  Thenardiers,  the  burning,  the 
strange  attitude  and  singular  flight  of  her  father. 
Marius  momentarily  forgot  all  this  ; he  did  not  know 
at  night  what  he  had  done  in  the  morning,  where 
he  had  breakfasted,  or  Avho  had  spoken  to  him ; he 
had  a song  in  his  ears  which  rendered  him  deaf  to 
every  other  thought,  and  he  only  existed  during  the 
hours  when  he  saw  Cosette.  As  he  was  in  heaven 
at  that  ‘time,  it  was  perfectly  simple  that  he  should 
forget  the  earth.  Both  of  them  bore  languidly  the 
undefinable  weight  of  immaterial  joys  ; that  is  the 
way  in  which  those  somnambulists  called  lovers 
live. 

Alas  ! who  is  there  that  has  not  experienced  these 
things  ? Why  does  an  hour  arrive  when  we  emerge 
from  this  azure,  and  why  does  life  go  on  afterwards  ? 

Love  almost  takes  the  place  of  thought.  Love  is, 
indeed,  an  ardent  forgetfulness.  It  is  absurd  to  ask 
passion  for  logic ; for  there  is  no  more  an  absolute 
logical  concatenation  in  the  human  heart  than  there 
is  a perfect  geometric  figure  in  the  celestial  mecha- 
nism. For  Cosette  and  Marius  nothing  more  existed 
than  Marius  aud  Cosette  ; the  whole  universe  around 
them  had  fallen  into  a gulf,  and  they  lived  in  a 
golden  moment,  with  nothing  before  them,  noth- 
ing behind  them.  IMarius  hardly  remembered  that 
Cosette  had  a father.  It  was  blotted  from  his  brain 
by  his  bedazzlement.  Of  what  did  these  lovers 


THE  GIDDINESS  OF  PERFECT  BLISS.  283 


talk  ? As  we  have  seen,  of  flowers,  swallows,  the 
setting  sun,  the  rising  moon,  and  all  the  important 
things.  They  had  told  themselves  everything  except 
everything ; for  the  everything  of  lovers  is  nothing. 
Of  what  use  would  it  be  to  talk  of  her  father,  the 
realities,  that  den,  those  bandits,  that  adventure  ? 
Aud  was  it  quite  certain  that  the  nightmare  liad 
existed  ? They  were  two,  they  adored  each  other, 
aud  there  was  only  that,  there  was  nothing  else.  It 
is  probable  that  this  obliteration  of  hell  behind  us 
is  essential  to  the  arrival  in  Paradise.  Have  we 
seen  demons  ? Are  there  any  ? Have  we  trembled  ? 
Have  we  suffered  ? We  no  longer  know,  and  there 
is  a roseate  cloud  over  it  all. 

Hence  these  two  beings  lived  in  this  way,  very 
high  up,  and  with  all  the  unverisimilitude  which 
there  is  in  nature  ; neither  at  the  nadir  nor  at  the 
zenith,  but  between  man  and  the  seraphs,  above  the 
mud  and  below  the  ether,  in  the  clouds.  They  were 
not  so  much  flesh  and  bone,  as  soul  and  ecstasy  from 
head  to  foot,  already  too  sublimated  to  walk  on 
earth,  and  still  too  loaded  with  humanity  to  disap- 
pear in  ether,  aud  held  in  suspense  like  atoms  which 
are  waiting  to  be  precipitated ; apparently  beyond 
the  pale  of  destiny,  and  ignorant  of  that  rut,  yester- 
day, to-day,  and  to-morrow ; amazed,  transported, 
and  floatmg  at  moments  with  a lightness  sufficient 
for  a flight  in  the  infinitude,  and  almost  ready  for 
the  eternal  departure.  They  slept  awake  in  this 
sweet  lulling  ; oh,  splendid  lethargy  of  the  real  over- 
powered by  the  ideal ! At  times  Cosette  was  so 
beautiful  that  IMarius  closed  his  eyes  before  her. 


284 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


The  best  wav  of  gazing  at  the  soul  is  with  closed 
eyes.  Marius  and  Cosette  did  not  ask  themselves  to 
what  this  would  lead  them,  and  looked  at  each  other 
as  if  they  had  already  arrived.  It  is  a strange  claim 
on  the  part  of  men  to  wish  that  love  should  lead 
them  somewhere. 


CHAPTER  III. 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  SHADOW. 

Jean  Valjean  suspected  nothing ; for  Cosette, 
not  quite  sucii  a dreamer  as  Marius,  was  gay, 
and  that  sufficed  to  render  Jean  Valjean  happy. 
Cosette’s  thoughts,  her  tender  preoccupations,  and 
the  image  of  jMarius  which  filled  her  soul,  removed 
none  of  the  incomparable  purity  of  her  splendid, 
chaste,  and  smiling  forehead.  She  was  at  the  age 
when  the  virgin  wears  her  love  as  the  angel  wears 
its  lily.  Jean  Valjean  was,  therefore,  happy ; and, 
besides,  when  two  lovers  understand  each  other, 
things  always  go  well,  and  any  third  party  who 
might  trouble  their  love  is  kept  in  a perfect  state  of 
blindness  by  a small  number  of  precautions,  which 
are  always  the  same  ivith  aU  lovers.  Hence  Cosette 
never  made  any  objections ; if  he  wished  to  take  a 
walk,  “ Very  good,  my  little  papa,”  and  if  he  stayed  at 
home,  very  good,  and  if  he  wished  to  spend  the 
evening  with  Cosette,  she  was  enchanted.  As  he 
always  retired  at  ten  o’clock  at  night,  on  those  occa- 
sions ^larius  did  not  reach  the  garden  till  after  that 
hour,  when  he  heard  from  the  street  Cosette  opening 
the  door.  We  need  hardly  say  that  IMarius  was 
never  visible  by  day,  and  Jean  Valjean  did  not  even 


286 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


remember  that  INIarius  existed.  One  morning,  how 
ever,  he  happened  to  say  to  Cosette,  “ Why,  the 
back  of  your  dress  is  all  white  ! ” On  the  pre^dous 
evening  IMarius  in  a transport  had  pressed  Cosette 
against  the  wall.  Old  Toussaint,  who  went  to  bed 
at  an  early  hour,  only  thought  of  sleeping  so  soon  as 
her  work  was  finished,  and  was  ignorant  of  every- 
thing, like  Jean  Valjean. 

Marius  never  set  foot  in  the  house  when  he  was 
with  Cosette  ; they  concealed  themselves  in  a niche 
near  the  steps  so  as  not  to  be  seen  or  heard  from  the 
street,  and  sat  there,  often  contenting  themselves 
with  the  sole  conversation  of  pressing  hands  twenty 
times  a minute,  and  gazing  at  the  branches  of  the 
trees.  At  such  moments,  had  a thunderbolt  fallen 
Avithin  thirty  feet  of  them,  they  would  not  have 
noticed  it,  so  profoundly  Avas  the  revery  of  the  one 
absorbed  and  plunged  in  the  revery  of  the  other. 
Limpid  purities,  and  spotless  hours  of  almost  un- 
broken similarity ! This  species  of  loA^e  is  a collec- 
tion of  lily  leaA^es  and  dove’s  feathers.  The  whole 
garden  Avas  betAveen  them  and  the  street,  and 
each  time  that  JMarius  came  in  and  out  he  carefully 
restored  the  bar  of  the  railings,  so  that  no  disar- 
rangement Avas  visible.  He  went  aAvay  generally  at 
midnight,  and  went  back  to  Courfeyrac’s  lodgings. 
Courfeyrac  said  to  Bahorel,  — 

“ Can  you  believe  it  ? Marius  returns  home  at 
present  at  one  in  the  morning.” 

Bahorel  answered, — 

“ What  Avould  you  have  ? There  is  always  a bomb- 
shell inside  a seminarist.” 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  SHADOW.  287 


At  times  Courfeyrac  crossed  lus  arms,  assumed  a 
stern  air,  and  said  to  iNIarius,  — 

“ Young  man,  you  are  becoming  irregular  in  your 
habits.” 

Courfeyrac,  who  was  a practical  man,  was  not 
pleased  with  this  reflection  of  an  invisible  Paradise 
cast  on  Marius  ; he  was  but  little  accustomed  to  un- 
published passions,  hence  he  grew  impatient,  and  at 
times  summoned  IMarius  to  return  to  reality.  One 
moniing  he  cast  this  admonition  to  him,  — 

“ My  dear  fellow,  you  produce  on  me  the  effect  at 
present  of  being  a denizen  of  the  moon,  in  the  king- 
dom of  dreams,  the  prownce  of  illusion,  whose  chief 
city  is  soap-bubble.  Come,  don’t  jDlay  the  prude, 
- — what  is  her  name  ? ” 

But  nothing  could  make  Marius  speak,  and  his 
nails  could  have  been  dragged  from  him  more  easily 
than  one  of  the  three  sacred  syllables  of  which  the 
ineffable  name  Cosette  was  composed.  True  love  is 
luminous  as  the  dawn,  and  silent  as  the  tomb.  Still 
Courfeyrac  found  this  change  in  jMarius,  that  he  had 
a beaming  taciturnity.  During  the  sweet  month  of 
May,  Marius  and  Cosette  knew  this  immense  happi- 
ness, — to  quarrel  and  become  reconciled,  to  talk  for 
a long  time,  and  with  the  most  minute  details,  about 
people  who  did  not  interest  them  the  least  in  the 
world,  — a further  proof  that  in  that  rarfshing  opera 
which  is  called  love,  the  libretto  is  nothing.  For 
]\Iarius  it  was  heaven  to  listen  to  Cosette  talking  of 
dress  ; for  Cosette  to  listen  to  Marius  talking  politics, 
to  listen,  knee  against  knee,  to  the  vehicles  passing 
along  the  Rue  de  Babylone,  to  look  at  the  same 


288 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


planet  in  space,  or  the  same  worm  glistening  in  the 
grass,  to  be  silent  together,  a greater  pleasure  still 
than  talking,  etc. 

Still  various  complications  were  approaching.  One 
evening  Marius  was  going  to  the  rendezvous  along  the 
Boulevard  des  Invalides ; he  was  walking  as  usual  ^vith 
his  head  down,  and  as  he  was  turning  the  corner  of  the 
Rue  Plumet,  he  heard  some  one  say  close  to  him,  — 

“ Good-evening,  Monsieur  Marius.” 

He  raised  his  head  and  recognized  Eponine.  This 
produced  a singular  effect ; he  had  not  once  thought 
of  this  girl  since  the  day  when  she  led  him  to  the 
Rue  Plumet ; he  had  not  seen  her  again,  and  she 
had  entirely  left  his  mind.  He  had  oidy  motives  to 
be  grateful  to  her,  he  owed  her  his  present  happiness, 
and  yet  it  annoyed  him  to  meet  her.  It  is  an  error 
to  believe  that  passion,  when  it  is  happy  and  pure, 
leads  a man  to  a state  of  perfection ; it  leads  him 
simply,  as  we  have  shown,  to  a state  of  forgetfulness. 
In  this  situation,  man  forgets  to  be  wicked,  but  he 
also  forgets  to  be  good,  and  gratitude,  duty,  and  es- 
sential and  material  recollections,  fade  away.  At 
any  other  time  Marius  would  have  been  very  different 
to  Eponine,  but,  absorbed  by  Cosette,  he  had  not  very 
clearly  comprehended  that  this  Eponine  was  Eponine 
Th^nardier,  and  that  she  bore  a name  written  in 
his  father’s  will,  — that  name  to  which  he  would 
have  so  ardently  devoted  himself  a few  months  pre- 
viously. We  show  Marius  as  he  was,  and  his  father 
himself  slightly  disappeared  in  his  mind  beneath  the 
splendor  of  his  love.  Hence  he  replied  with  some 
embarrassment,  — 


THE  BEGINNING  OE  THE  SHADOW.  289 

“ All,  is  it  you,  Eponine  ? ” 

“ Why  do  you  treat  me  so  coldly  ? Have  I done 
you  any  injury  ? ” 

“ Xo,”  he  answered. 

Certainly  he  had  nothing  against  her ; far  from 
it.  Still  he  felt  that  he  could  not  but  say  “you” 
to  Eiionine,  now  that  he  said  “ thou  ” to  Cosette. 
As  he  remained  silent,  she  exclaimed,  — 

“ Tell  me  — ” 

Then  she  stopped,  and  it  seemed  as  if  words  failed 
this  creature,  who  was  formerly  so  impudent  and 
bold.  She  tried  to  smile  and  could  not,  so  con- 
tinued, — 

“ Well  ? ” 

Then  she  was  silent  again,  and  looked  down  on 
the  ground. 

“ Good-night,  Monsieur  Marius,”  she  suddenly 
said,  and  went  away. 


VOL.  IV. 


19 


CHAPTER  IV. 


CAB  RUNS  IN  ENGLISH  AND  BARKS  IN  SLANG. 

The  next  day  — it  was  June  3,  1832,  a date  to 
which  we  draw  attention  owing  to  the  grave  events 
which  were  at  that  moment  hanging  over  the  horizon 
of  Paris  in  the  state  of  lightning-charged  clouds  — 
Marius  at  nightfall  was  following  the  same  road  as 
on  the  previous  evening,  with  the  same  ravishing 
thoughts  in  his  heart,  when  he  saw  between  the 
boulevard  trees  Eponine  coming  toward  him.  Two 
days  running,  — that  was  too  much ; so  he  sharply 
turned  back,  changed  his  course,  and  went  to  the  Rue 
Plumet  by  the  Rue  Monsieur.  This  caused  Eponine 
to  follow  him  as  far  as  the  Rue  Plumet,  a thing  she 
had  never  done  before  ; hitherto,  she  had  contented 
herself  with  watching  him  as  he  passed  along  the  bou- 
levard, without  attempting  to  meet  him  : last  evening 
was  the  first  time  that  she  ventured  to  address  him. 
Eponine  followed  him,  then,  without  his  suspecting 
it : she  saw  him  move  the  railing-bar  aside  and  step 
into  the  garden. 

“ Hilloh  ! ” she  said,  “ he  enters  the  house.” 

She  went  up  to  the  railing,  felt  the  bars  in  turn, 
and  easily  distinguished  the  one  which  Marius  had 


CAB  RUNS  IN  ENGLISH  AND  BARKS  IN  SLANG.  291 


removed  ; and  she  muttered  in  a low  voice,  and  with 
a lugubrious  accent,  — “None  of  that,  Lisette  ! ” 

She  sat  down  on  the  stone-work  of  the  railing, 
close  to  the  bar,  as  if  she  were  guarding  it.  It  was 
exactly  at  the  spot  where  the  railings  joined  the  next 
wall,  and  there  was  there  a dark  corner,  in  which 
Eponine  entirely  disappeared.  She  remained  thus 
for  more  than  an  hour  without  stirring  or  breathing, 
absorbed  in  thought.  About  ten  o’clock  at  night,  one 
of  the  two  or  three  passers  along  the  Rue  Plumet, 
an  old  belated  citizen,  who  was  hurrying  along  the 
deserted  and  ill-famed  street,  while  passing  the  rail- 
ing, heard  a dull  menacing  voice  saying,  — 

“ I am  not  surprised  now  that  he  comes  every 
evening.” 

The  passer-by  looked  ai’ound  him,  saw  nobody,  did 
not  dare  to  peer  into  this  dark  corner,  and  felt  hor- 
ribly alarmed.  He  redoubled  his  speed,  and  was 
quite  right  in  doing  so,  for  in  a few  minutes  six 
men,  who  were  walking  separately,  and  at  some  dis- 
tance from  each  other,  under  the  walls,  and  who 
might  have  been  taken  for  a drunken  patrol,  entered 
the  Rue  Plumet : the  first  who  reached  the  railings 
stopped  and  waited  for  the  rest,  and  a second  after, 
all  six  were  together,  and  began  talking  in  whispered 
slang. 

“ It ’s  here,”  said  one  of  them. 

“ Is  there  a cab  [dog]  in  the  garden  ? ” another 
asked. 

“ I don’t  know.  In  any  case  I have  brought  a 
bullet  which  we  •udll  make  it  eat.” 

“ Have  you  got  some  mastic  to  break  a pane  ? ” 


292 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


“Yes,” 

“ The  railings  are  old,”  remarked  the  fifth  man, 
who  seemed  to  have  the  voice  of  a ventriloquist. 

“ All  the  better,”  said  the  second  speaker ; “ it  will 
make  no  noise  when  sawn,  and  won’t  be  so  hard  to 
cut  through.” 

The  sixth,  who  had  not  yet  opened  his  mouth,  be- 
gan examining  the  railings  as  Eponine  had  done  an 
hour  ago,  and  thus  reached  the  bar  which  Marius 
had  unfastened.  Just  as  he  was  about  to  seize  this 
bar,  a hand  suddenly  emerging  from  the  darkness 
clutched  his  arm ; he  felt  himself  roughly  thrust 
back,  and  a hoarse  voice  whispered  to  him,  “ There ’s 
a cab.”  At  the  same  time  he  saw  a pale  girl  stand- 
ing in  front  of  him.  The  man  had  that  emotion 
which  is  always  produced  by  things  unexpected ; 
his  hair  stood  hideously  on  end.  Nothing  is  more 
formidable  to  look  at  than  startled  wild  beasts. 
Their  affrighted  look  is  hideous.  He  fell  back  and 
stammered,  — 

“ Who  is  this  she-devil  ? ” 

“ Your  daughter.” 

It  was,  in  truth,  Eponine  speaking  to  Th^nardier. 
Upon  her  apparition,  the  other  five  men,  that  is  to 
say,  Claquesous,  Gueulemer,  Babet,  Montparnasse, 
and  Brujon,  approached  noiselessly,  without  hurry  or 
saying  a word,  but  with  the  sinister  slowness  peculiar 
to  these  men  of  the  night.  Some  hideous  tools 
could  be  distinguished  in  their  hands,  and  Gueule- 
mer held  a pair  of  those  short  pincers  which  burglars 
call  fauchons  (small  scythes). 

“Well,  what  are  you  doing  here?  What  do  you 


CAB  EIINS  IN  ENGLISH  AND  BARKS  IN  SLANG.  293 

Avant  ? Are  you  mad  ? ” Tli^nardier  exclaimed,  as 
far  as  is  possible  to  exclaim  in  a whisper.  “ Have 
you  come  to  prevent  us  from  working  ? ” 

Eponine  burst  into  a laugh  and  leaped  on  his 
neck.  “ I am  here,  my  little  papa,  because  I am 
here;  are  not  people  allowed  to  sit  down  on  the 
stones  at  present  ? It  is  you  who  ought  n’t  to  be 
here ; and  what  have  you  come  to  do,  since  it  is  a 
biscuit  ? I told  Magnon  so,  and  there  is  nothing  to 
be  done  here.  But  embrace  me,  my  good  little  papa, 
it  is  such  a time  since  I saw  you.  You  are  out, 
then  ? ” 

Thenardier  tried  to  free  himself  from  Eponine’s 
arms,  and  growled,  — 

“ There,  there,  you  have  embraced  me.  Yes,  I 
am  out,  and  not  in.  Noav  be  off.” 

But  Eponine  did  not  loose  her  hold,  and  redoubled 
her  caresses. 

“My  dear  papa,  how  ever  did  you  manage?  You 
must  have  been  very  clever  to  get  out  of  that  scrape, 
so  tell  me  all  about  it.  And  where  is  mamma? 
Gh’e  me  some  news  of  her,” 

Thenardier  answered,  — 

“ She ’s  all  right.  I don’t  know ; leave  me  and  be 
off,  I tell  you.” 

“ I do  not  exactly  want  to  go  off,”  Eponine  said 
Avith  the  pout  of  a spoiled  child ; “ you  send  me 
away,  though  I haA^e  n’t  seen  you  now  for  four 
months,  and  I have  scarce  had  time  to  embrace 
you.” 

And  she  caught  her  father  again  round  the  neck. 

“ Oh,  come,  this  is  a bore,”  said  Babet. 


294 


THE  KUE  ELUMET  IDYLL. 


“ JNIake  haste,”  said  Gueulemer,  “ the  police  may 
pass.” 

The  ventriloquial  voice  hummed,  — 

“ Nous  n’soinmes  pas  le  jour  de  Fan, 

A becoter  papa,  maman.” 

Eponine  turned  to  the  five  bandits  : — 

“ Why,  that ’s  Monsieur  Brujon.  Good-evening, 
Monsieur  Babet;  good-evening.  Monsieur  Claquesous. 
What,  don’t  you  know  me.  Monsieur  Gueulemer  ? 
How  are  you,  Montparnasse  ? ” 

“ Yes,  they  know  you,”  said  Th^nardier  ; “ but 
now  good-night,  and  be  off ; leave  us  alone.” 

“ It  is  the  hour  of  the  foxes,  and  not  of  the  chick- 
ens,” said  Montparnasse. 

“ Don’t  you  see  that  we  have  work  here  ? ” Babet 
added. 

Eponine  took  Montparnasse  by  the  hand.  “ Mind,” 
he  said,  “ you  will  cut  yourself,  for  I have  an  open 
knife.” 

“ My  dear  Montparnasse,”  Eponine  replied  very 
gently,  ‘'confidence  ought  to  be  placed  in  people, 
and  I am  my  father’s  daughter,  perhaps.  Monsieur 
Babet,  Monsieur  Gueulemer,  I was  ordered  to  ex- 
amine into  this  affair.” 

It  is  remarkable  that  Eponine  did  not  speak  slang ; 
ever  since  she  had  known  Marius  that  frightful  lan- 
guage had  become  impossible  to  her.  She  pressed 
Gueulemer’s  great  coarse  fingers  in  her  little  bony 
hand,  which  was  as  weak  as  that  of  a skeleton,  and 
continued, — “ You  know  very  well  that  I am  no 
fool,  and  people  generally  believe  me.  I have  done 


CAB  EUNS  IN  ENGLISH  AND  BARKS  IN  SLANG.  295 

you  a service  now  and  tlien  ; well,  I have  made  in- 
quiries, and  you  would  run  a needless  risk.  I swear 
to  you  that  there  is  nothing  to  be  done  in  this 
house.” 

“ There  are  lone  women,”  said  Gueulemer. 

“ No,  they  have  moved  away.” 

‘‘Well,  the  candles  haven’t,”  Babet  remarked;  and 
he  pointed  over  the  trees  to  a light  which  was 
moving  about  the  garret.  It  was  Toussaint,  who  was 
up  so  late  in  order  to  hang  up  some  linen  to  dry. 
Eponine  made  a final  effort. 

“ Well,”  she  said,  “ they  are  very  poor  people,  and 
there  is  n’t  a penny  piece  in  the  house.” 

“ Go  to  the  de\dl,”  cried  Thenardier ; “ when  we 
have  turned  the  house  topsy-turvy,  and  placed  the 
cellar  at  top  and  the  attics  at  the  bottom,  we 
udll  tell  you  what  there  is  inside,  and  whether 
they  are  halles,  ronds,  or  broques  [francs,  sous,  or 
liards].” 

And  he  thrust  her  away  that  he  might  pass. 

“ My  kind  M.  Montparnasse,”  Eponine  said,  “ I 
ask  you,  who  are  a good  fellow,  not  to  go  in.” 

“ Take  care,  you  ’ll  cut  yourself,”  ISIontparnasse 
replied. 

Thenardier  remarked,  udth  that  decisive  accent  of 
his,  — 

“ Decamp,  fairy,  and  leave  men  to  do  their 
business.” 

Eponine  let  go  Montparnasse’s  hand,  which  she 
had  seized  again,  and  said,  — 

“ So  you  intend  to  enter  this  house  ? ” 

“ A little,”  the  ventriloquist  said  with  a grin. 


296 


THE  HUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


She  leaned  against  the  railings,  faced  these  six 
men  armed  to  the  teeth,  to  whom  night  gave  demo- 
niac faces,  and  said  in  a firm,  low  voice,  — 

“ Well,  I will  not  let  you  ! ” 

They  stopped  in  stupefaction,  but  the  ventriloquist 
completed  his  laugh.  She  continued,  — 

“Friends,  listen  to  me,  for  it’s  now  my  turn  to 
speak.  If  you  enter  this  garden  or  touch  this  railing 
I will  scream,  knock  at  doors,  wake  people ; I will 
have  you  all  six  seized,  and  call  the  police.” 

“ She  is  capable  of  doing  it,”  Thenardier  w'his- 
pered  to  the  ventriloquist  and  Brujon. 

She  shook  her  head,  and  added,  — 

“ Beginning  with  my  father.” 

Thenardier  approached  her. 

“ Not  so  close,  my  good  man,”  she  said. 

He  fell  back,  growling  between  his  teeth,  “ Why, 
what  is  the  matter  ? ” and  added,  “ chienne.” 

She  burst  into  a terrible  laugh. 

“ As  you  please,  but  you  shall  not  enter ; but  I 
am  not  the  daughter  of  a dog,  since  I am  the  whelp 
of  a wolf.  You  are  six,  but  what  do  I care  for 
that?  You  are  men  and  I am  a woman.  You  won’t 
frighten  me,  I can  tell  you,  and  you  shall  not  enter 
this  house  because  it  does  not  please  me.  If  you 
come  nearer  I bark  ; I told  you  there  was  a dog, 
and  I am  it.  I do  not  care  a farthing  for  you,  so  go 
your  way,  for  you  annoy  me  ! Go  Avhere  you  like, 
but  don’t  come  here,  for  I oppose  it.  Come  on,  then, 
you  with  your  stabs  and  I with  my  feet.” 

She  advanced  a step  toward  the  bandits  and  said, 
with  the  same  frightful  laugh,  — 


CAB  RUNS  IN  ENGLISH  AND  BARKS  IN  SLANG.  297 

“ Confound  it ! I ’m  not  frightened.  This  summer 
I shall  be  hungry,  and  this  winter  I shall  be  cold, 
AVhat  asses  these  men  must  be  to  think  they  can 
frighten  a girl ! Afraid  of  what  ? You  have  got 
dolls  of  mistresses  who  crawl  under  the  bed  when 
you  talk  big,  but  I am  afraid  of  nothing  ! ” 

She  fixed  her  eye  on  Th^nardier,  and  said,  — “^i^ot 
even  of  you,  father.” 

Then  she  continued,  as  she  turned  her  spectral, 
bloodshot  eyeballs  on  each  of  the  bandits  in  turn,  — 

“ What  do  I care  whether  I am  picked  up  to-mor- 
row on  the  pavement  of  the  Rue  Plumet  stabbed  by 
my  father,  or  am  found  within  a year  in  the  nets 
of  St.  Cloud,  or  on  Swan’s  Island,  among  old  rotting 
corks  and  drowned  dogs  ? ” 

She  was  compelled  to  break  off,  for  she  was 
attacked  by  a dry  cough,  and  her  breath  came  from 
her  weak,  narrow  chest  like  the  death-rattle. 

She  continued,  — 

“ I have  only  to  cry  out  and  people  will  come, 
patatras.  You  are  six,  but  I am  the  whole  world.” 

Thenardier  moved  a step  toward  her. 

“ Don’t  come  near  me,”  she  cried. 

He  stopped,  and  said  gently,  — 

“ Well,  no  ; I will  not  approach  you  ; but  do  not 
talk  so  loud.  Do  you  wish  to  prevent  us  from  work- 
ing, my  daughter  ? And  yet  we  must  earn  a liveli- 
hood. Do  you  no  longer  feel  any  affection  for  your 
father  ? ” 

“ You  bore  me,”  said  Eponine. 

“ Still  we  must  live  ; we  must  eat  — ” 

“ Burst ! ” 


298 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


This  said,  she  sat  down  on  the  coping  of  the 
railings  and  sang, — 

“ Mon  bras  si  dodu, 

Ma  jainbe  bien  faite,^ 

Et  le  temps  perdu.” 

She  had  her  elbow  on  her  knee,  and  her  chin  in  her 
hand,  and  balanced  her  foot  with  a careless  air.  Her 
ragged  gown  displayed  her  thin  shoulder-blades,  and 
the  neighboring  lamp  lit  up  her  profile  and  attitude. 
Nothing  more  resolute  or  more  surprising  could  well 
be  imagined.  The  six  burglars,  amazed  and  savage 
at  being  held  in  check  by  a girl,  went  under  the 
shadow  of  the  lamp  and  held  council,  with  humiliated 
and  furious  shrugs  of  their  shoulders.  She,  however, 
looked  at  them  witli  a peaceful  and  stern  air. 

“ There ’s  something  the  matter  with  her,”  said 
Babet ; “ some  reason  for  it.  Is  she  fond  of  the 
cab  ? It ’s  a pity  to  miss  the  affair.  There  are  two 
women  who  live  alone,  an  old  cove  who  lives  in 
a yard,  and  very  decent  curtains  up  to  the  windows. 
The  old  swell  must  be  a sheney,  and  I consider  the 
affair  a good  one.” 

“ Well,  do  you  fellows  go  in,”  Montparnasse  ex- 
claimed, “ and  do  the  trick.  I will  remain  here  with 
the  girl,  and  if  she  stirs  — ” 

He  let  the  knife  which  he  held  in  his  hand  glisten 
in  the  lamp-light.  Th^nardier  did  not  say  a word, 
and  seemed  ready  for  anything  they  pleased.  Brujon, 
who  was  a bit  of  an  oracle,  and  who,  as  we  know, 
“ put  up  the  job,”  had  not  yet  spoken,  and  seemed 
thoughtful.  He  was  supposed  to  recoil  at  nothing. 


CAB  RUNS  IN  ENGLISH  AND  BARKS  IN  SLANG.  299 

and  it  was  notorious  that  he  had  plundered  a police 
office  through  sheer  bravado.  INIoreover,  he  wrote 
verses  and  songs,  which  gave  him  a great  authority. 
Babet  questioned  him. 

“ Have  you  nothing  to  say,  Brujon  ? ” 

Brujon  remainecb  silent  for  a moment,  then  tossed 
his  head  in  several  different  ways,  and  at  length 
decided  on  speaking,  — t 

“ Look  here.  I saw  this  morning  two  sparrows 
fighting,  and  to-night  I stumble  over  a quarrelsome 
woman  : all  that  is  bad,  so  let  us  be  off.” 

They  went  away,  and  while  doing  so  Montparnasse 
muttered,  — 

“ No  matter  ; if  you  had  been  agreeable  I would 
have  cut  her  throat.” 

Babet  replied,  — 

“ I would  n’t ; for  I never  strike  a lady.” 

At  the  corner  of  the  street  they  stopped,  and 
exchanged  in  a low  voice  this  enigmatical  dialogue. 

“ Where  shall  we  go  and  sleep  to-night  ? ” 

“ Under  Pantin  [Paris].” 

“ Have  you  your  key  about  you,  Th^nardier  ? ” 

“ Of  course.” 

Eponine,  who  did  not  take  her  eyes  off  them,  saw 
them  return  by  the  road  along  which  they  had  come. 
She  rose  and  crawled  after  them,  along  the  walls 
and  the  houses.  She  followed  them  thus  along  the 
boulevard ; there  they  separated,  and  she  saw  the 
six  men  bury  themselves  in  the  darkness,  where  they 
seemed  to  fade  away. 


CHAPTER  y. 


THINGS  OF  THE  NIGHT. 

After  the  departure  of  the  bandits  the  Rue 
Plumet  resumed  its  calm,  nocturnal  aspect.  What 
had  just  taken  place  in  this  street  would  not  have 
astonished  a forest,  for  the  thickets,  the  coppices,  the 
heather,  the  interlaced  branches,  and  the  tall  grass, 
exist  in  a sombre  way ; the  savage  crowd  catches 
glimpses  there  of  the  sudden  apparitions  of  the  invisi- 
ble world  ; what  there  is  below  man  distinguishes 
there  through  the  mist  what  is  beyond  man,  and 
things  unknown  to  us  living  beings  confront  each 
other  there  in  the  night.  Bristling  and  savage  nature 
is  startled  by  certain  approaches,  in  which  it  seems 
to  feel  the  supernatural ; the  forces  of  the  shadow 
know  each  other  and  maintain  a mysterious  equilib- 
rium between  themselves.  Teeth  and  claws  fear  that 
which  is  unseizable,  and  blood-drinking  bestiality, 
voracious,  star\dng  appetites  in  search  of  prey,  the 
instincts  armed  with  nails  and  jaws,  which  have  for 
their  source  and  object  the  stomach,  look  at  and  sniff 
anxiously  the  impassive  spectral  lineaments  prowling 
about  in  a winding-sheet  or  standing  erect  in  this 
vaguely-rustling  robe,  and  which  seems  to  them  to 
live  a dead  and  terrible  life.  These  brutalities,  which 


THINGS  OF  THE  NIGHT. 


301 


are  only  physical,  have  a confused  fear  of  dealing 
witli  an  immense  obscurity  condensed  in  an  un- 
known being.  A black  figure  barring  the  passage 
stops  the  wild  beast  short ; what  comes  fi’om  the 
cemetery  intimidates  and  disconcerts  what  comes 
from  the  den ; ferocious  things  are  afraid  of  sinister 
things,  and  wolves  recoil  on  coming  across  a ghoul. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


MARIUS  ACTUALLY  GIVES  COSETTE  HIS  ADDRESS. 

While  this  sort  of  human-faced  dog  was  mount- 
ing guard  against  the  railing,  and  six  bandits  fled  be- 
fore a gi^  Marius  was  by  Cosette’s  side.  /The  sky 
had  never  been  more  star-spangled  and  more  charm- 
ing, the  trees  more  rustling,  or  the  smell  of  the  grass 
more  penetrating ; never  had  the  birds  fallen  asleep 
beneath  the  foliage  with  a softer  noise  ; never  had  all 
the  harmonies  of  universal  serenity  responded  better 
to  the  internal  music  of  lovejJ  never  had  Marius 
been  more  enamoured,  happier,  or  in  greater  ecstasy. 
But  he  had  found  Cosette  sad,  she  had  been  crying, 
and  her  eyes  were  red.  It  was  the  first  eloud  in  this 
admirable  dream.  Marius’s  first  remark  was,  — 

“ What  is  the  matter  with  you  ? ” 

And  she  replied,  — 

“ I will  tell  you.” 

Then  she  sat  down  on  the  beneh  near  the  house, 
and  while  he  took  his  seat,  all  trembling,  by  her  side, 
she  continued,  — 

“ My  father  told  me  this  morning  to  hold  myself 
in  readiness,  for  he  had  business  to  attend  to,  and 
we  were  probably  going  away.” 

Marius  shuddered  from  head  to  foot.  When  we 


IvIAElUS  GIVES  COSETTE  HIS  ADDRESS.  303 


reach  the  end  of  life,  death  signifies  a departure,  but 
at  the  beginning,  departure  means  death.  pFor  six 
weeks  past  INIarius  had  slowly  and  gradually  taken 
possession  of  Cosette ; it  was  a perfectly  ideal  but 
profound  possession.  As  we  have  explained,  in  first 
love  men  take  the  soul  long  before  the  body ; at  a 
later  date  they  take  the  body  before  the  soul,  and  at 
times  they  do  not  take  the  soul  at  all,  — the  Faublas 
and  Prudhommes  add,  because  there  is  none  to  take ; 
but  the  sarcasm  is  fortunately  a blasphemy.  Marius, 
then,  possessed  Cosette  in  the  way  that  minds  pos- 
sess ; but  he  enveloped  her  with  his  entire  soul,  and 
jealously  seized  her  with  an  incredible  comfiction. 
He  possessed  her  touch,  her  breath,  her  perfume, 
the  deep  flash  of  her  blue  eyes,  the  softness  of  her 
skin  when  he  touched  her  hand,  the  charming  mark 
which  she  had  on  her  neck,  and  all  her  thoughts. 
They  had  agreed  never  to  sleep  without  dreaming  of 
each  other,  and  had  kept  their  word.  He,  therefore, 
possessed  all  Cosette’s  dreams.  He  looked  at  her 
incessantly,  and  sometimes  breathed  on  the  short 
hairs  which  she  had  on  the  back  of  her  neck,  and 
said  to  himself  that  there  was  not  one  of  those  hairs 
which  did  not  belong  to  him.  He  contemplated  and 
adored  the  things  she  wore,  her  bows,  — her  cuffs,  her 
gloves,  and  slippers,  — like  sacred  objects  of  which  he 
was  the  master.  He  thought  that  he  was  the  lord  of 
the  small  tortoise-shell  combs  which  she  had  in  her  hair; 
and  he  said  to  himself,  in  the  confused  stammering 
of  delight  that  came  on,  that  there  was  not  a seam  of 
her  dress,  not  a mesh  of  her  stockings,  not  a wrinkle 
in  her  bodice,  which  was  not  his.  By  the  side  of 


304 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


Cosette  he  felt  close  to  his  property,  close  to  his  creat- 
ure, close  to  his  despot  and  his  slave.  It  seemed 
that  they  had  so  blended  their  souls  that  if  they  had 
wished  to  take  them  back  it  would  have  been  impos- 
sible for  them  to  recognize  them.  This  is  mine  — 
no,  it  is  mine  — I assure  you  that  you  are  mistaken. 
This  is  really  I — what  you  take  for  yourself  is  my- 
self ; jMarius  was  something  which  formed  part  of 
Cosette,  and  Cosette  was  something  that  formed  part 
of  INIarius.  Maims  felt  Cosette  live  in  him  ; to  have 
Cosette,  to  possess  Cosette,  was  to  him  not  very  differ- 
ent from  breathing.  It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  faith, 
this  intoxication,  this  virgin,  extraordinary,  and  abso- 
lute possession,  and  this  sovereignty,  that  the  words 
“ We  are  going  away”  suddenly  fell  on  him,  and  the 
stern  voice  of  reality  shouted  to  him,  “ Cosette  is  not 
thine.”  JMarius  awoke.  For  six  weeks,  as  we  said, 
he  had  been  living  out  of  life,  and  the  word  “ depart  ” 
made  him  roughly  re-enter  it.  He  could  not  find  a 
word  to  say,  and  Cosette  merely  noticed  that  his 
hand  was  very  cold.  She  said  to  him  in  her  turn,  — 
“ What  is  the  matter  with  you?*^ 

He  answered,  in  so  low  a voice  that  Cosette  could 
scarce  hear  him,  — 

“ I do  not  understand  what  you  said.” 

She  continued,  — 

“ This  morning  my  father  told  me  to  prepare  my 
clothes  and  hold  myself  ready  ;[that  he  would  give 
me  his  linen  to  put  in  a portmantea^  that  he  was 
obliged  to  make  a journey;  that  we  were  going  away ; 
that  we  must  have  a large  trunk  for  myself  and  a 
small  one  for  him;  to  get  all  this  ready  within 


MARIUS  GIVES  COSETTE  HIS  ADDRESS.  305 


a week,  and  that  we  should  probably  go  to 
England.” 

“ Why,  it  is  monstrous  ! ” jVIarius  exclaimed. 

It  is  certain  that  at  this  moment,  in  Marius’s 
mind,  no  abuse  of  power,  no  Aiolence,  no  abomina- 
tion of  the  most  prodigious  tyi’ants,  no  deed  of 
Busiris,  Tiberius,  or  Henry  YIII.,  equalled  in  fero- 
city this  one,  — IM.  Fauchelevent  taking  his  daughter 
_^o  England  because  he  had  business  to  attend  to. 
Tie  asked,  in  a faint  voice, — 

“ And  when  Avill  you  start  ? ” 

“ He  did  not  say  when.” 

“ And  when  will  youj’eturn  ? ” 

“ He  did  not  tell  me.”| 

And  Marius  rose  and  said  coldly,  — 

“ Will  you  go,  Cosette  ? ” 

Cosette  turned  to  him,  her  beautifid  eyes  full  of 
agony,  and  answered,  with  a species  of  wildness,  — 

“ Where  ? ” 

“ To  England  ; will  you  go  ? ” 

“ MTiat  can  I do  ? ” she  said,  clasping  her  hands. 

“ Then  you  will  go  ? ” 

“ If  my  father  goes.” 

“ So  you  are  determined  to  go  ? ” 

Cosette  seized  Marius’s  hand  and  pressed  it  as 
sole  reply. 

“ Very  well,”  said  Marius  ; “ in  that  case  I shall 
go  elsewhere.” 

Rosette  felt  the  meaning  of  this  remark  even 
more  than  she  comprehended  it ; she  turned  so  pale_ 
that  her  face  became  white  in  the  darkness,  an^i. 
stammered,  — 

VOL.  IV. 


20 


30G 


THE  KUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


“ What  do  you  mean  ? ” 

Marius  looked  at  her,  then  slowly  raised  his  eyes 
to  heaven,  and  replied,  — 

“Nothing.” 

When  he  looked  down  again  he  saw  Cosette 
smiling  at  him ; the  smile  of  the  woman  whom  we 
love  has  a brilliancy  which  is  visible  at  night. 

“ How  foolish  we  are  ! Marius,  I have  an  idea.” 

“What is  it?” 

“Follow  us  if  we  go  away!  I will  tell  you  whither, 
and  you  can  join  me  where  I am.” 

[Alarius  was  now  a thoroughly  wide-awake  man, 
and  had  fallen  back  into  reality  ; hence  he  cried  to 
Cosette,  .=^ 

“ Go  with  you  ! Are  you  mad  ? Why,  it  would 
require  money,  and  I have  none ! Go  to  Eng- 
land ! Why,  I already  owe  more  than  ten  louis  to 
Courfeyrac,  one  of  my  friends,  whom  you  do  not 
know  ! I have  an  old  hat,  which  is  not  worth  three 
francs,  a coat  with  buttons  missing  in  front,  my  shirt 
is  all  torn,  my  boots  let  in  water,  I am  out  at  elbows, 
but  I have  not  thought  of  it  for  six  weeks,  and  did 
not  tell  you.  Cosette,  I am  a wretch  ; you  only  see 
me  at  night  and  give  me  your  love  : were  you  to  see 
me  by  day  you  would  give  me  a sou.  Go  to  Eng- 
land! Why,  I have  not  enough  to  pay  for  the 
passport ! ” 

He  threw  himself  against  a tree,  with  his  arms 
over  his  head  and  his  forehead  pressed  to  the  bark, 
neither  feeling  the  wood  that  grazed  his  skin  nor  the 
fever  which  spotted  his  temples,  motionless  and 
ready  to  fall,  like  the  statue  of  despair.  He  re- 


MARIUS  GIVES  COSETTE  HIS  ADDRESS.  307 

mained  for  a long  time  in  this  state  — people  would 
remain  for  an  eternity  in  such  abysses.  At  length 
he  turned  and  heard  behind  a little  stifled,  soft,  and 
sad  sound  ; it  was  Cosette  sobbing  ; J^he  had  been 
crying  for  more  than  two  hours  by  the  side  of 
Marius,  who  was  reflecting.  He  went  up  to  her,  fell 
on  his  knees,  seized  her  foot,  which  peeped  out  from 
under  her  skirt,  and  kissed  it.  She  let  him  do  so  in 
silence,  for  there  are  moments  when  a woman  ac- 
cepts, like  a sombre  and  resigned  duty,  the  worship 
of  love. 

“ Do  not  weep,”  he  said. 

She  continued,  — 

“ But  I am  perhaps  going  away,  and  you  are  not 
able  to  come  with  me.” 

He  said,  “ Do  you  love  me  ? ” 

She  replied  by  sobbing  that  Paradisaic  word, 
which  is  never  more  charming  than  through  tears, 
“ I adore  you.” 

He  pursued,  with  an  accent  which  was  an  inex- 
pressible caress,  — 

“ Do  not  weep.  Will  you  do  so  much  for  me  as 
to  check  your  tears  ? ” ^ 

“ Do  you  love  me  ? ” she  said.  . 

He  took  her  hand. 

“ Cosette,  I have  never  pledged  my  word  of  honor 
to  any  one,  because  it  frightens  me,  and  I feel  that 
my  father  is  by  the  side  of  it.  Well,  I pledge  you 
my  most  sacred  word  of  honor  that  if  you  go  away 
I shall  die.” 

There  was  in  the  accent  with  which  he  uttered 
these  words  such  a solemn  and  calm  melancholy  that 


308 


THE  HUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


Cosette  trembled,  and  she  felt  that  chill  which  is 
produced  by  the  passing  of  a sombre  and  true  thing. 
In  her  terror  she  ceased  to  weep. 

“Now  listen  to  me,”  he  said  ; “ do  not  expect  me 
to-morrow.” 

“ Why  not  ? ” 

“ Do  not  expect  me  till  the  day  after.” 

“ Oh,  why  ? ” 

“ You  will  see.” 

Ij^A  day  without  your  coming  ! — oh,  it  is  im- 
possible ! ” 

“ Let  us  sacrifice  a day,  to  have,  perhaps,  one 
whole  life.” 

And  Marius  added  in  a low  voice  and  aside, 
— “ He  is  a man  who  makes  no  change  in  his 
habits,  and  he  never  received  anybody  before  the 
evening.” 

“ What  man  are  you  talking  about  ? ” Cosette 
asked. 

“I?  I did  not  say  anything.” 

“ What  do  you  hope  for,  then  ? ” 

“Wait  till  the  day  after  to-morrow.” 

“ Do  you  desire  it  ? ” 

“Yes,  Cosette.” 

He  took  her  head  between  his  two  hands,  as  she 
stood  on  tiptoe  to  reach  him  and  tried  to  see  his 
hopes  in  his  eyes.  Marius  added,  — 

“ By  the  bye,  you  must  know  my  address,  for 
something  might  happen ; I live  with  my  fi’iend 
Courfeyrac,  at  No.  16,  Rue  de  la  Verrerie.” 

He  felt  in  his  pockets,  took  out  a knife,  and 
scratched  the  address  on  the  plaster  of  the  wall. 


MARIUS  GIVES  COSETTE  HIS  ADDRESS.  309 


In  the  mean  while  Cosette  had  begun  looking  in 
his  eyes  again, 

ULTqW  me  your  thought,  INIarius,  for  you  have  one. 
Tell  it  to  me.  Oh,  tell  it  to  me,  so  that  I may  pass 
a good  night ! ” 

“ My  thought  is  this : it  is  impossible  that  God 
can  wish  to  separate  us.  Expect  me  the  day  after 
to-morrow.” 

“ What  shall  I do  till  then  ? ” Cosette  said.  “ You 
are  in  the  world,  and  come  and  go  ; how  happy  men 
are  ! but  I shall  remain  all  alone.  Oh,  I shall  be  so 
sadj]  What  ■will  you  do  to-morrow  night,  tell  me  ? ” 

“ I shall  try  something.” 

“ In  that  case  I shall  pray  to  Heaven,  and  think  of 
you,  so  that  you  may  succeed.  I will  not  question 
you  any  more,  as  you  do  not  wish  it^and  you  are  my 
master.  I Avill  spend  my  evening  in  singing  the  song 
from  ‘ Euryanthe,’  of  which  you  are  so  fond,  and 
which  you  heard  one  night  under  my  shutters.  But 
you  ■will  come  eai^the  next  evening,  and  I shall  ex- 
pect you  at  nine  o’clock  exactly.  warn  you.  Oh, 
good  Heaven  ! how  sad  it  is  that  the  days  are  so 
long!  You  hear;  I shall  be  in  the  garden  as  it  is 
striking  nine.” 

_ “ And  I too.” 

And  without  saying  a word,  moved  by  the  same 
thought,  carried  away  by  those  electric  currents 
which  place  two  lovers  in  continual  communication, 
both  intoxicated  with  voluptuousness,  even  in  their 
grief,  fell  into  each  other’s  arms  without  noticing 
that  their  lips  were  joined  together,  while  their  up- 
raised eyes,  overflowing  -with  ^stasy  and  full  of 


310 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


tears,  contemplated  the  stars.  When  jMarius  left, 
the  street  was  deserted,  for  it  was  the  moment  when 
Eponine  followed  the  bandits  into  the  boulevard. 
While  Marius  dreamed  with  his  head  leaning  against 
a tree  an  idea  had  crossed  his  mind,  — an  idea,  alas  ! 
w'hich  himself  eonsidered  mad  and  impossible.  He 
had  formed  a violent  resolution. 


% 


CHAPTER  VIL 


AX  OLD  HEART  AXD  A TOUXG  HEART  FACE 
TO  FACE. 

Father  Gillexormaxd  at  tliis  period  had  just 
passed  his  uinety-first  birthday,  aud  still  lived  with 
his  daughter  at  No.  6,  Rue  des  Filles-de-Calvaire,  in 
the  old  house  which  was  his  own  property.  He 
was,  it  -will  be  remembered,  one  of  those  antique  old 
men  whose  age  falls  on  without  bending  them,  and 
whom  even  sorrow  cannot  bow.  Still,  for  some  time 
past  his  daughter  had  said,  “ My  father  is  break- 
ing.” He  no  longer  slapped  the  servants,  or  rapped 
so  ^■iolently  with  his  cane  the  staircase  railing  where 
Basque  kept  him  waiting.  The  Revolution  of  July 
had  not  exasperated  him  for  more  than  six  months, 
and  he  had  seen  almost  with  tranquillity  in  the 
Moniteur  this  association  of  words,  M.  Humblot- 
Conte,  Peer  of  France.  The  truth  is,  that  the  old 
man  was  filled  with  grief ; he  did  not  bend,  he  did  not 
surrender,  for  that  was  not  possible  either  with  his 
moral  or  physical  nature ; but  he  felt  himself  failing  in- 
wardly. For  four  years  he  had  been  awaiting  Marius 
with  a firm  foot,  — that  is  really  the  expression,  ■ — 
with  the  con\dction  that  the  wicked  young  scape- 
grace would  ring  his  bell  some  day ; and  now  he  had 
begun  to  say  to  himself,  when  depressed,  that  Marius 


312 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


might  remain  away  a little  too  long.  It  was  not 
death  that  was  insupportable  to  him,  but  the  idea 
tliat  perhaps  he  might  not  see  Marius  again.  This 
idea  had  never  occurred  to  him  till  one  day,  and  at 
present  it  rose  before  him  constantly,  and  chilled  him 
to  death.  Absence,  as  ever  happens  in  natural  and 
true  feelings,  had  only  heightened  the  grandfather’s 
love  for  the  ungrateful  boy  who  had  gone  away  like 
that.  It  is  on  December  nights,  when  the  thermome- 
ter is  almost  down  at  zero,  that  people  tliink  most 
of  the  sun.  M.  Gillenormand  was,  or  fancied  him- 
self, utterly  incapable  of  taking  a step  toward  his 
grandson ; “ I would  rot  first,”  he  said  to  himself. 
He  did  not  think  himself  at  all  in  the  wrong,  but  lie 
only  thouglit  of  Marius  with  profound  tenderness, 
and  the  dumb  despair  of  an  old  man  who  is  going 
down  into  the  valley  of  the  shadows.  He  was  be- 
ginning to  lose  his  teeth,  which  added  to  his  sorrow. 
M.  Gillenormand,  without  confessing  it  to  himself, 
however,  for  he  would  have  been  furious  and  ashamed 
of  it,  had  never  loved  a mistress  as  he  loved  Marius, 
He  had  hung  up  in  his  room,  as  the  first  thing  he 
might  see  on  awaking,  an  old  portrait  of  his  other 
daughter,  the  one  who  was  dead,  Madame  de  Pont- 
mercy,  taken  when  she  was  eighteen.  He  incessantly 
regarded  this  portrait,  and  happened  to  say  one  day, 
while  gazing  at  it,  — 

“ I can  notice  a likeness.” 

“To  my  sister?”  Mile,  Gillenormand  remarked; 
“ oh,  certainly,” 

The  old  man  added,  “ And  to  him  too.” 

When  he  was  once  sitting,  with  his  knees  against 


AN  OLD  HEAKT  AND  A YOUNG  HEART.  313 

each  other,  aud  liis  eyes  almost  closed  in  a melan- 
choly posture,  his  daughter  ventured  to  say  to 
him,  — 

“ Father,  are  you  still  so  furious  against  — ” She 
stopped,  not  daring  to  go  further. 

“ Against  whom  ? ” he  asked. 

“ That  poor  Marius.” 

He  raised  his  old  head,  laid  his  thin  wrinkled  fist 
on  the  table,  and  cried,  in  his  loudest  and  most 
irritated  accent,  — 

“ Poor  Marius,  you  say  ! That  gentleman  is  a 
scoundrel,  a scamp,  a little  vain  uigrate,  without 
heart  or  soul,  a proud  and  wicked  man  ! ” 

And  he  turned  away,  so  that  his  daughter  might 
not  see  a tear  which  he  had  in  his  eyes.  Three  days 
later  he  interrupted  a silence  which  had  lasted  four 
hours  to  say  to  his  daughter  gruffly,  — 

“ I had  had  the  honor  of  begging  Mademoiselle 
GiUenormand  never  to  mention  his  name  to  me.” 

Aunt  GiUenormand  gave  up  all  attempts,  and 
formed  this  profound  diagnostic : “ My  father  was 
never  very  fond  of  my  sister  after  her  folly.  It  is 
clear  that  he  detests  Marius.”  “ After  her  folly  ” 
meant,  “ since  she  married  the  Colonel.”  Still,  as 
may  be  conjectured.  Mademoiselle  GiUenormand 
failed  in  her  attempt  to  substitute  her  favorite,  the 
officer  of  lancers,  in  Marius’s  place.  Theodule  had 
met  with  no  success,  and  iM.  GiUenormand  refused 
to  accept  the  qid  pro  quo  ; for  the  vacuum  in  the 
heart  cannot  be  stopped  by  a bung.  Theodule,  on 
his  side,  while  sniffing  the  inheritance,  felt  a repug- 
nance to  the  labor  of  pleasing,  and  the  old  gentle- 


314 


THE  RUE  RLUMET  IDYLL. 


man  annoyed  the  lancer,  while  the  lancer  offended 
the  old  gentleman.  Lieutenant  Theodule  was  cer- 
tainly gay  but  gossiping,  frivolous  but  vulgar,  a good 
liver  but  bad  company  ; he  had  mistresses,  it  is  true, 
and  he  talked  a good  deal  about  them,  it  is  also  true, 
but  then  he  talked  badly.  All  his  qualities  had  a 
defect,  and  M,  Gillenormand  was  worn  out  with 
listening  to  the  account  of  the  few  amours  he  had 
had  round  his  barracks  in  the  Rue  de  Babylone.  And 
then  Lieutenant  Theodule  called  sometimes  in  uni- 
form with  the  tricolor  cockade,  which  rendered  him 
simply  impossible.  M.  Gillenormand  eventually  said 
to  his  daughter,  “ I have  had  enough  of  Theodule, 
for  I care  but  little  for  a warrior  in  peace  times. 
You  can  receive  him  if  you  like,  but  for  my  part  I 
do  not  know  whether  I do  not  prefer  the  sabrers 
to  the  trailing  of  sabres,  and  the  clash  of  blades  in  a 
battle  is  less  wretched,  after  all,  than  the  noise  of 
scabbards  on  the  pavement.  And  then,  to  throw 
up  one’s  head  like  a king  of  clubs,  and  to  lace  one’s 
self  like  a woman,  to  wear  stays  under  a cuirass,  is 
doubly  ridiculous.  When  a man  is  a real  man  he 
keeps  himself  at  an  equal  distance  from  braggadocio 
and  foppishness.  So  keep  your  Theodule  for  your- 
self.” Though  his  daughter  said  to  him,  “After 
all,  he  is  your  grand-nephew,”  it  happened  that  M. 
Gillenormand,  who  was  grandfather  to  the  end  of 
his  nails,  was  not  a grand-uncle  at  all ; the  fact  is, 
that  as  he  was  a man  of  sense  and  comparison, 
Theodule  only  served  to  make  him  regret  Marius 
the  more. 

One  evening,  it  was  the  4th  of  June,  which  did  not 


AN  OLD  HEART  AND  A YOUNG  HEART.  315 

prevent  Father  Gillenorniand  from  having  an  excellent 
fire  in  his  chimney,  he  had  dismissed  his  daughter, 
who  was  sewing  in  the  adjoining  room.  He  was 
alone  in  his  apartment  with  the  pastoral  hangings, 
with  his  feet  on  the  andirons,  half  enveloped  in  his 
nine-leaved  Coromandel  screen,  sitting  at  a table  on 
which  two  candles  burned  under  a green  shade, 
swallowed  up  in  his  needle-worked  easy-chair,  and 
holding  a book  in  his  hand,  which  he  was  not  read- 
ing. He  was  dressed,  according  to  his  mode,  as  an 
“ Incroyable,”  and  resembled  an  old  portrait  of  Carat. 
This  would  have  caused  him  to  be  followed  in  the 
streets  ; but  whenever  he  went  out,  his  daughter 
wrapped  him  up  iu  a sort  of  episcopal  wadded  coat, 
which  hid  his  clothing.  At  home  he  never  wore  a 
dressing-gown,  save  when  he  got  up  and  went  to 
bed.  “ It  gives  an  old  look,”  he  was  wont  to  say. 
Father  Gillenormand  was  thinking  of  IMarius  bitterly 
and  loHngly,  and,  as  usual,  bitterness  gained  the 
upper  hand.  His  savage  tenderness  always  ended 
by  boiling  over  and  turning  into  indignation,  and  he 
was  at  the  stage  when  a man  seeks  to  make  up  his 
mind  and  accept  that  which  lacerates.  He  was 
explaining  to  himself  that  there  was  no  longer  any 
reason  for  Marius’s  return,  that  if  he  had  meant  to 
come  home  he  would  have  done  so  long  before,  and 
all  idea  of  it  must  be  given  up.  He  tried  to  form 
the  idea  that  it  was  all  over,  and  that  he  should  die 
without  seeing  that  “ gentleman  ” again.  But  his 
whole  nature  revolted,  and  his  old  paternity  could 
not  consent.  “ Mliat,”  he  said,  and  it  was  his 
mournful  burden,  “he  will  not  come  back!”  and 


316 


THE  KUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


liis  old  bald  head  fell  on  his  chest,  and  he  vaguely 
fixed  a lamentable  and  irritated  glance  upon  the 
ashes  on  his  hearth.  In  the  depth  of  this  reverie  his 
old  servant  Basque  came  in  and  asked,  — 

“ Can  you  receive  M.  Marius,  sir  ? ” 

The  old  man  sat  up,  livid,  and  like  a corpse  which 
is  roused  by  a galvanic  shock.  All  his  blood  flowed 
to  his  heart,  and  he  stammered,  — 

“ M.  Marius ! Who  ? ” 

“ I do  not  know,”  Basque  replied,  intimidated  and 
disconcerted  by  his  master’s  air,  “ for  I did  not  see 
him.  It  was  JSTicolette  who  said  to  me  just  now, 
‘ There  is  a young  man  here  ; say  it  is  M.  Marius.’  ” 
Father  Gillenormand  stammered  in  a low  voice, 
“ Show  him  in.” 

And  he  remained  in  the  same  attitude,  with  hang- 
ing head  and  eye  fixed  on  the  door.  It  opened,  and 
a young  man  appeared  ; it  was  Marius,  who  stopped 
in  the  doorway  as  if  waiting  to  be  asked  in.  His 
almost  wretched  clothes  could  not  be  seen  in  the 
obscurity  produced  by  the  shade,  and  only  his  calm, 
grave,  but  strangely  sorrowful  face  could  be  distin- 
guished. Father  Gillenormand,  as  if  stunned  by 
stupor  and  joy,  remained  for  a few  minutes  seeing 
nothing  but  a brilliancy,  as  when  an  apparition  rises 
before  us.  He  was  ready  to  faint,  and  perceived 
Marius  through  a mist.  It  was  really  he,  it  was 
really  Marius ! At  length,  after  four  years ! He 
took  him  in  entirely,  so  to  speak,  at  a glance,  and 
found  him  handsome,  noble,  distinguished,  grown,  a 
thorough  man,  with  a proper  attitude  and  a charm- 
ing air.  He  felt  inclined  to  open  his  arms  and  call 


an  old  heart  and  a young  heart.  317 


the  boy  to  him,  his  bowels  were  swelled  with  ravish- 
ment, aifectionate  words  welled  np  and  overflowed 
his  bosom.  At  length  all  this  tenderness  burst  forth 
and  reached  his  lips,  and  through  the  contrast  which 
formed  the  basis  of  his  character  a harshness  issued 
from  it.  He  said  roughly,  — 

“ What  do  you  want  here  ? ” 

Marius  replied  with  an  embarrassed  air,  — 

“ Sir  — ” 

Monsieur  Gillenormand  would  have  liked  for 
Marius  to  throw  himself  into  his  arms,  and  he  was 
dissatisfied  both  with  IVIarius  and  himself.  He  felt 
that  he  w^as  rough  and  Marius  cold,  and  it  was  an 
insupportable  and  irritating  anxiety  to  the  old  gen- 
tleman to  feel  himself  so  tender  and  imploring 
within,  and  unable  to  be  otherwise  than  harsh  ex- 
ternally. His  bitterness  returned,  and  he  abruptly 
interrupted  IMarius. 

“ In  that  case,  why  do  you  come  ? ” 

The  “ in  that  case  ” meant  “ if  you  have  not  come 
to  embrace  me.”  Marius  gazed  at  his  ancestor’s 
marble  face. 

“Sir—” 

The  old  gentleman  resumed  in  a stern  voice,  — 

“ Have  you  come  to  ask  my  pardon  ? Have  you 
recognized  your  error  ? ” 

He  believed  that  he  was  putting  Marius  on  the 
right  track,  and  that  “ the  boy  ” was  going  to  give 
way.  Marius  trembled,  for  it  was  a disavowal  of 
his  father  that  was  asked  of  him,  and  he  lowered  his 
eyes  and  replied,  “ No,  sir.” 

“Well,  in  that  case,”  the  old  man  exclaimed  im- 


318 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


petuously,  and  with  a sharp  sorrow  full  of  anger, 
“ what  is  it  you  want  of  me  ? ” 

INIarius  clasped  his  hands,  advanced  a step,  and 
said,  in  a w'eak,  trembling  voice,  — 

“ Take  pity  on  me,  sir.” 

This  word  moved  M.  Gillenormand  ; had  it  come 
sooner  it  would  have  softened  him,  but  it  came  too 
late.  The  old  gentleman  rose,  and  rested  both  liands 
on  his  cane  ; his  lips  were  white,  his  forehead  shook, 
but  his  lofty  stature  towered  over  the  stooping 
Mariiis. 

“ Pity  on  you,  sir  ! The  young  man  asks  pity  of 
an  old  man  of  ninety-one  ! You  are  entering  life, 
and  I am  lea\'ing  it ; you  go  to  the  play,  to  balls, 
to  the  coffeediouse,  the  billiard-table  ; you  are  witty, 
you  please  women,  you  are  a pretty  fellow,  while 
I spit  on  my  logs  in  the  middle  of  summer  ; you  are 
rich  with  the  only  wealth  there  is,  while  I have  all 
the  poverty  of  old  age,  infirmity,  and  isolation.  You 
have  your  two-and-thirty  teeth,  a good  stomach,  a 
quick  eye,  strength,  appetite,  health,  gayety,  a forest 
of  black  hair,  while  I have  not  even  my  white  hair 
left.  I have  lost  my  teeth,  I am  losing  my  legs,  I 
am  losing  my  memory,  for  there  are  three  names 
of  streets  which  I incessantly  confound,  — the  Rue 
Chariot,  the  Rue  du  Chaume,  and  the  Rue  St.  Claude. 
Such  is  my  state  ; you  have  a whole  future  before  you, 
full  of  sunshine,  while  I am  beginning  to  see  nothing, 
as  I have  advanced  so  far  into  night.  You  ax’e  in 
love,  that  is  a matter  of  course,  while  I am  not 
beloved  by  a soul  in  the  world,  and  yet  you  ask 
me  for  pity  ! By  Jove  ! Molifere  forgot  that.  If  that 


AN  OLD  HEART  AND  A YOUNG  HEART.  319 


is  tlie  way  in  whicli  you  lawyers  jest  at  the  palais, 
I compliment  yon  most  sincerely  upon  it,  for  you 
are  droll  fellows.” 

And  the  octogenarian  added,  in  a serious  and 
wrathful  voice,  — 

“ Well  ; what  is  it  you  want  of  me  ? ” 

“ I am  aware,  sir,”  said  Marius,  “ that  my  jwesence 
here  displeases  you  ; but  I have  only  come  to  ask  one 
thing  of  you,  and  then  I shall  go  away  at  once.” 

“ You  are  a fool ! ” the  old  man  said.  “ Who  told 
you  to  go  away  ? ” 

This  was  the  translation  of  the  tender  words  which 
he  had  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart.  “ Ask  my  pardon, 
why  don’t  you  ? and  throw  your  arms  round  my 
neck.”  M.  Gillenormand  felt  that  Marius  was  going 
to  leave  him  in  a few  moments,  that  his  bad  reception 
offended  him,  and  that  his  harshness  expelled  him  ; 
he  said  all  this  to  himself,  and  his  grief  was  aug- 
mented by  it,  and  as  his  grief  immediately  turned 
into  passion  his  harshness  grew  the  greater.  He  had 
wished  that  Marius  should  understand,  and  Marius 
did  not  understand,  which  rendered  the  old  gentleman 
furious.  He  continued,  — 

“ What ! you  insulted  me,  your  grandfather  ; you 
left  my  house  to  go  the  Lord  knows  whither ; you 
broke  your  aunt’s  heart ; you  went  away  to  lead  a 
bachelor’s  life,  — of  course  that ’s  more  convenient,  — 
to  play  the  fop,  come  home  at  all  hours,  and  amuse 
yourself ; you  have  given  me  no  sign  of  life  ; you 
have  incurred  debts  without  even  asking  me  to  pay 
them  ; you  have  been  a breaker  of  windows  and  a 
brawler ; and  at  the  end  of  four  years  you  return  to 


320 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


my  house  and  have  nothing  more  to  say  to  me  than 
that  ! ” 

This  violent  way  of  forcing  the  grandson  into 
tenderness  only  produced  silence  on  the  part  of 
Marius,  M.  Gillenorinand  folded  his  arms,  — a ges- 
ture which  with  him  was  peculiarly  imperious,  — and 
bitterly  addressed  Marius,  — 

“ Let  us  come  to  an  end.  You  have  come  to  ask 
something  of  me,  you  say.  Well,  what  is  it  ? Speak!” 

“ Sir,”  said  Marius,  with  the  look  of  a man  who 
feels  that  he  is  going  to  fall  over  a precipice,  “ I 
have  come  to  ask  your  permission  to  marry.” 

M.  Gillenormand  rang  the  bell,  and  Basque  poked 
his  head  into  the  door. 

“ Send  my  daughter  here.” 

A second  later  the  door  opened  again,  and  Mile. 
Gillenormand  did  not  enter,  but  showed  herself. 
Marius  was  standing  silently,  with  drooping  arms 
and  the  face  of  a criminal,  while  M,  Gillenormand 
walked  up  and  down  the  room.  He  turned  to  his 
daughter  and  said  to  her,  — 

“ It  is  nothing.  This  is  M.  Marius  ; wish  him 
good-evening.  This  gentleman  desires  to  marry. 
That  will  do.  Be  off ! ” 

The  sound  of  the  old  man’s  sharp,  hoarse  voice 
announced  a mighty  fury  raging  within  him.  The 
aunt  looked  at  Marius  in  terror,  seemed  scarce  to 
recognize  him,  did  not  utter  a syllable,  and  dis- 
appeared before  her  father’s  breath  like  a straw 
before  a hurricane.  In  the  mean  while  M.  Gillenor- 
mand had  turned  back,  and  was  now  leaning  against 
the  mantel-piece. 


AN  OLD  HEART  AND  A YOUNG  HEART.  321 


‘‘ You  many  ! at  the  age  of  one-and-twenty  ! You 
have  settled  all  that,  aud  have  ouly  a permission  to 
ask,  a mere  formality  ! Sit  down,  sir.  Well,  you 
have  had  a revolution  since  I had  the  honor  of  seeing 
you  last ; the  Jacobins  had  the  best  of  it,  and  you 
are  of  course  pleased.  Are  you  not  a republican 
since  you  became  a baron  ? Those  two  things  go 
famously  together,  and  the  republic  is  a sauce  fof 
the  barony.  Are  you  one  of  the  decorated  of  July  ? 
Did  you  give  your  small  aid  to  take  the  Louvi’e,  sir  ? 
Close  by,  in  the  Rue  St.  Antoine,  opposite  the  Rue 
des  Nonaindiferes,  there  is  a cannon-ball  imbedded  in 
tlie  wall  of  a house  three  stories  up,  with  the  in- 
scription, ‘July  28,  1830.’  Go  and  look  at  it,  for  it 
produces  a famous  elfect.  Ah  ! your  friends  do  very 
pretty  things  ! By  the  way,  are  they  not  erecting 
a fountain  on  the  site  of  the  Due  de  Berry’s  monu- 
ment ? So  you  wish  to  marry  ? May  I ask,  without 
any  indiscretion,  who  the  lady  is  ? ” 

He  stopped,  and  before  JMarius  had  time  to  answer, 
he  added  violently,  — 

“ Ah  ! have  you  a profession,  a fortune  ? How 
much  do  you  earn  by  your  trade  as  a lawyer  ? ” 

“ Nothing,”  said  Marius,  with  a sort  of  fierceness 
and  almost  stern  resolution. 

“ Nothing  ? Then  you  have  ouly  the  twelve  hun- 
dred livres  which  I allow  you  to  live  on  ? ” 

Marius  made  no  reply,  and  M.  Gillenormand 
continued,  — 

“ In  that  case,  I presume  that  the  young  lady  i.5 
wealthy  ? ” 

“ Like  myself.” 

VOL.  IV. 


21 


322 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


“ What ! no  dowry  ? ” 

“No.” 

“ Any  expectations  ? ” 

“ I do  not  think  so.” 

“ Quite  naked  ! And  what  is  the  father  ? ” 

“ I do  not  know.” 

“ And  what  is  her  name  ? ” 

“ Mademoiselle  Fauchelevent.” 

“ Mademoiselle  Fauchewhat  ? ” 

“ Fauchelevent.” 

“ Ptt ! ” said  the  old  gentleman. 

“ Monsieur  ! ” Marius  exclaimed. 

M.  Gillenormand  interrupted  him,  with  the  air  of 
a man  who  is  talking  to  himself,  — 

“ That  is  it,  one-aud-twenty,  no  profession,  twelve 
hundred  livres  a year,  and  the  Baroness  Pontmercy 
mil  go  and  buy  two  sous’  worth  of  parsley  at  the 
green-grocer’s  ! ” 

“ Sir,”  Marius  replied  in  the  wildness  of  the  last 
vanishing  hope,  “ I implore  you,  I conjure  you  in 
Heaven’s  name,  with  clasped  hands  I throw  myself 
at  your  feet,  — sir,  permit  me  to  marry  her  ! ” 

The  old  man  burst  into  a sharp,  melancholy  laugh, 
through  which  he  coughed  and  spoke,  — 

“ Ah,  ah,  ah  ! you  said  to  yourself,  ‘ I ’ll  go  and  see 
that  old  periwig,  that  absurd  ass ! What  a pity  that 
I am  not  five-and-twenty  yet ! how  I would  send  him 
a respectful  summons  ! Old  fool,  you  are  too  glad  to 
see  me ; I feel  inclined  to  marry  Mamselle  Lord- 
knows-who,  the  daughter  of  Monsieur  Lord-knows- 
what.  She  has  no  shoes  and  I have  no  shirt ; that 
matches.  I am  inclined  to  throw  into  the  river  my 


AN  OLD  HEART  AND  A YOUNG  HEART.  323 


career,  my  youth,  my  future,  my  life,  and  take  a 
plunge  into  m'etchedness  with  a wife  round  my  neck 
— that  is  my  idea,  and  you  must  consent : ’ and  the  old 
fossil  will  consent.  Go  in,  my  lad,  fasten  your  paving- 
stone  round  your  neck,  marry  your  Pousselevent,  your 
Coupeleveut,  — never,  sir,  never ! ” 

“ Father  — ” 

“ Never  ! ” « 

Marius  lost  all  hope  through  the  accent  with 
which  this  “ never  ” was  pronounced.  He  crossed 
the  room  slowly,  with  hanging  head,  tottering,  and 
more  like  a man  that  is  dying  than  one  who  is  going 
away.  M.  Gillenormand  looked  after  him,  and  at  the 
moment  Avhen  the  door  opened  and  Marius  was  about 
to  leave  the  room  he  took  four  strides  with  the  senile 
vivacity  of  an  impetuons  and  spoiled  old  man,  seized 
Marius  by  the  collar,  pulled  him  back  energetically 
into  the  room,  threw  him  into  an  easy-chair,  and 
said,  — 

‘‘  Tell  me  all  about  it.” 

The  word which  had  escaped  from  Marius’s 
lips  produced  this  revolution.  Marius  looked  at 
M.  Gillenormand  haggardly,  but  his  inflexible  face 
expressed  nought  now  but  a rough  and  ineffable 
goodness.  The  ancestor  had  made  way  for  the 
grandfather. 

“ Well,  speak ; tell  me  of  your  love  episodes,  tell 
me  all.  Sapristi ! how  stupid  young  men  are  ! ” 

“ My  father  ! ” iSIarius  resumed. 

The  old  gentleman’s  entire  face  was  lit  up  with  an 
indescribable  radiance. 

“Yes,  that  is  it,  call  me  father,  and  you  ’ll  see.” 


324 


THE  KUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


There  was  now  something  so  gentle,  so  good,  so 
open,  and  so  paternal  in  this  sharpness,  that  Marius, 
in  this  sudden  passage  from  discouragement  to  hope, 
was,  as  it  were,  stunned  and  intoxicated.  As  he  was 
seated  near  the  table  tlie  light  of  the  candles  fell  on 
his  seedy  attire,  wliich  Father  Gillenormand  studied 
mth  amazement. 

“Well,  father,”  said  Marius. 

“ What ! ” M.  Gillenormand  interrupted  him,  “ have 
you  really  no  money  ? You  are  dressed  like  a thief.” 

He  felt  in  a drawer  and  pulled  out  a purse,  which 
he  laid  on  the  table. 

“ Here  are  one  hundred  louis  to  buy  a hat  with.” 

“My  father,”  Marius  continued,  “my  kind  father. 
If  you  only  knew  how  I love  her ! You  cannot  im- 
agine it.  The  first  time  I saw  her  was  at  the  Lux- 
embourg, where  she  came  to  walk.  At  the  begin- 
ning I paid  no  great  attention  to  her,  and  then  I 
know  not  how  it  happened,  but  I fell  in  love  with 
her.  Oh,  how  wretched  it  made  me ! I see  her 
now  every  day  at  her  own  house,  and  her  father 
knows  nothing  about  it.  Just  fancy,  they  are  going 
away  ; we  see  each  other  at  night  in  the  garden  ; her 
father  means  to  take  her  to  England  ; and  then  I said 
to  myself,  ‘ I will  go  and  see  my  grandfather  and  tell 
him  about  it.’  I should  go  mad  first,  I should  die,  I 
should  have  a brain  fever,  I should  throw  myself  into 
the  water.  I must  marry  her,  or  else  I shall  go  mad. 
That  is  the  whole  truth,  and  I do  not  believe  that  I 
have  forgotten  anything.  She  lives  in  a garden  with  a 
railing  to  it,  in  the  Rue  Plumet : it  is  on  the  side  of 
the  Invalides.” 


AN  OLD  HEART  AND  A YOUNG  HEART.  325 


Father  Gillenormand  was  sitting  radiantly  by  ]Ma- 
rius’s  side  : while  listening  and  enjoying  the  sound  of 
his  voice  he  enjoyed  at  the  same  time  a lengthened 
pinch  of  snuff.  At  the  words  “ Rue  Plumet  ” he 
broke  off  inhaling,  and  allowed  the  rest  of  the  snuff 
to  fall  on  his  knees. 

“ Rue  Plumet ! Did  you  say  Rue  Plumet  ? Only 
think  ! Is  there  not  a barrack  down  there  ? Oh  yes, 
of  course  there  is ; your  cousin  Theodtde,  the  officer, 
the  lancer,  told  me  about  it  — a little  girl,  my  dear 
fellow,  a bttle  girl ! By  Jove ! yes.  Rue  Plumet,  which 
used  formerly  to  be  called  Rue  Blomet.  I remember 
it  all  now,  and  I have  heard  about  the  petite  behind 
the  railings  in  the  Rue  Plumet.  In  a garden,  a Pa- 
mela. Your  taste  is  not  bad.  I am  told  she  is 
very  tidy.  Between  ourselves,  I believe  that  ass  of 
a lancer  has  courted  her  a little ; I do  not  exactly 
know  how  far  matters  have  gone,  but,  after  all,  that 
is  of  no  consequence.  Besides,  there  is  no  belie\'ing 
him  ; he  boasts.  Marius,  I think  it  very  proper  that 
a young  man  like  you  should  be  in  love,  for  it  be- 
comes your  age,  and  I would  sooner  have  you  in  love 
than  a Jacobin.  I would  rather  know  you  caught 
by  a petticoat,  ay,  by  twenty  petticoats,  than  by 
Monsieur  de  Robespierre.  For  my  part,  I do  myself 
the  justice  of  saying  that,  as  regards  sans-culottes, 
I never  loved  any  but  women.  Pretty  girls  are 
pretty  girls,  hang  it  all ! and  there  is  no  harm  in 
that.  And  so  she  receives  you  behind  her  father’s 
back,  does  she  ? That ’s  all  right,  and  I had  affairs  of 
the  same  sort,  more  than  one.  ^ Do  you  know  what 
a man  does  in  such  cases  ? He  does  not  regard  the 


326 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


matter  ferociously,  lie  does  not  liurl  himself  into 
matrimony,  or  conclude  with  marriage  and  M.  le 
JVIaire  in  his  scarf.  No,  he  is,  although  foolish,  a 
youth  of  spirits  and  of  good  sense.  Glide,  mortals, 
but  do  not  marry.  Such  a young  man  goes  to  his 
grandfather,  who  is  well  inclined  after  all,  and  who 
has  always  a few  rolls  of  louis  in  an  old  drawer, 
and  he  says  to  him,  ‘ Grandpapa,  that ’s  how  matters 
stand ; ’ and  grandpapa  says,  ‘ It  is  very  simple  ; youth 
must  make  and  old  age  break,  I have  been  young 
and  you  will  be  old.  All  right,  my  lad,  you  will  re- 
quite it  to  your  grandson.  Here  are  two  hundred 
pistoles ; go  and  amuse  yourself,  confound  you ! ’ That 
is  the  way  in  which  the  matter  should  be  arranged ; 
a man  does  not  marry,  but  that  is  no  obstacle : do 
you  understand  ? ” 

Marius,  petrified  and  incapable  of  uttering  a word, 
shook  his  head  in  the  negative.  The  old  gentleman 
burst  into  a laugh,  winked  his  aged  eyelid,  tapped 
him  on  the  knee,  looked  at  him  in  both  eyes  with  a 
mysterious  and  radiant  air,  and  said  with  the  tender- 
est  shrug  of  the  shoulders  possible,  — 

“ Yoii  goose  ! make  her  your  mistress ! ” 

Marius  turned  pale ; he  had  understood  nothing 
of  what  his  grandfather  had  been  saying,  and  this 
maundering  about  the  Rue  Blomet,  Pamela,  the  bar- 
racks, the  lancer,  had  passed  before  Marius  like  a 
phantasmagoria.  Nothing  of  all  this  could  affect 
Cosette,  who  was  a lily,  and  the  old  gentleman  was 
wandering.  But  this  divagation  had  resulted  in  a 
sentence  which  Marius  understood,  and  which  was  a 
mortal  insult  to  Cosette,  and  the  words.  Make  her 


AN  OLD  HEART  AND  A YOUNG  HEART.  327 

your  mistress,  passed  through  the  pure  young  man’s 
heart  like  a sword-blade.  He  rose,  picked  up  his 
hat  which  was  on  the  gTOund,  and  walked  to  the 
door  with  a firm,  assured  step.  Then  he  turned, 
gave  his  grandfather  a low  bow,  drew  himself  up 
again,  and  said,  — 

“ Five  years  ago  you  outraged  my  father ; to-day 
you  outrage  my  wife.  1 have  uothing  more  to  ask 
of  you,  sir ; farewell ! ” 

Father  Gillenormaud,  who  was  stupefied,  opened 
his  mouth,  stretched  out  his  arms,  strove  to  rise,  and 
ere  he  was  able  to  utter  a word,  the  door  had  closed 
again,  and  Marius  had  disappeared.  The  old  gentle- 
man remained  for  a few  minutes  motionless,  and  as  if 
thunderstruck,  unable  to  speak  or  breathe,  as  though 
a garroter’s  hand  were  compressing  his  throat.  At 
length  he  tore  himself  out  of  his  easy-chair,  ran  to 
the  door  as  fast  as  a man  can  run  at  ninety-one, 
opened  it,  and  cried,  — 

‘‘Help!  help!” 

His  daughter  appeared,  and  then  his  serv^ants ; he 
went  on  with  a lamentable  rattle  in  his  throat,  — 

“ Run  after  him  ! catch  him  up  ! How  did  I offend 
him  ? He  is  mad  and  going  away ! Oh  Lord,  oh  Lord ! 
this  time  he  will  not  return.” 

He  went  to  the  wdndow  which  looked  on  the 
street,  opened  it  with  his  old  trembling  hands,  bent 
half  his  body  out  of  it,  while  Basque  and  Nicolette 
held  his  skirts,  and  cried,  — 

“ Marius  ! Marius  ! Marius  ! Marius  ! ” 

But  Marius  could  not  hear  him,  for  at  this  very 
moment  he  was  turning  the  corner  of  the  Rue  St. 


328 


THE  EUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


Louis.  The  nonagenarian  raised  his  hands  twice  or 
thrice  to  his  temples  with  an  expression  of  agony, 
tottered  back,  and  sank  into  an  easy-chair,  pulseless, 
voiceless,  and  tearless,  shaking  his  head  and  moving 
his  lips  with  a stupid  air,  and  having  nothing  left  in 
his  eyes  or  heart  but  a profound  and  gloomy  rigidity 
which  resembled  night. 


BOOK  IX. 


WHERE  ARE  THEY  GOING? 


CHAPTER  I. 

JEAN  VALJEAN. 

That  same  day,  about  four  in  the  afternoon,  Jean 
Valjean  was  seated  on  one  of  the  most  solitary  slopes 
of  the  Champ  de  Mars.  (Either  through  prudence,  a 
desire  to  reflect,  or  simply  in  consequence  of  one  of 
those  insensible  changes  of  habits  which  gradually 
introduce  themselves  into  all  existences,  he  now  went 
out  very  rarely  Avith  Cosette.  He  had  on  his  work- 
man’s jacket  and  gray  canvas  trousers,  and  his  long 
peaked  cap  concealed  his  face.  He  Avas  at  present 
calm  and  happy  by  Cosette’s  side  ; what  had  startled 
and  troubled  him  for  a Avhile  Avas  dissipated ; but 
during  the  last  week  or  fortnight  anxieties  of  a 
fresh  nature  had  sprung  up.  One  day,  Avhile  Avalking 
along  the  bouleA'ard,  he  noticed  Th^nardier ; thanks 
to  his  disguise,  Thenardier  did  not  recognize  him, 
but  after  that  Jean  Valjean  saAV  him  several  times 
again,  and  noAV  felt  a certainty  that  Thenardier  Avas 
prowling  about  the  quarter.  This  Avas  sufficient  to 
make  him  form  a grand  resolution,  for  Thenardier 


330 


THE  HUE  PLUMET  lUTLL. 


jjreseiit  was  every  peril  at  once  ; moreover,  Paris 
was  not  quiet,  and  political  troubles  offered  this  in- 
convenience to  any  man  who  had  something  in  his 
life  to  hide,  — that  the  police  had  become  very  restless 
and  suspicious,  and  when  trying  to  find  a man  like 
Pepin  or  iMorey,  might  very  easily  discover  a man 
like  Jean  Valjean.  He  therefore  resolved  to  leave 
Paris,  even  France,  and  go  to  England ; he  had 
warned  Cosette,  and  hoped  to  be  off  within  a week. 
He  was  sitting  on  the  slope,  revolving  in  his  mind  all 
sorts  of  thoughts,  ■ — Tlninardier,  the  police,  the  jour- 
ney, and  the  difficulty  of  obtaining  a passport.  From 
all  these  points  of  view  he  was  anxious  : and  lastly, 
an  inexplicable  fact,  which  had  just  struck  him,  and 
from  which  he  Avas  still  hot,  added  to  his  alarm. 
On  the  morning  of  that  very  day  he,  the  only  person 
up  in  the  house,  and  walking  in  the  garden  before 
Cosette’s  shutters  were  opened,  suddenly  perceived 
this  line  on  the  Avail,  probably  scratched  with  a 
nail,  16  Rue  de  la  Verrerie. 

It  was  quite  recent ; the  lines  were  Avhite  on  the 
old  black  mortar,  and  a bed  of  nettles  at  the  foot  of 
the  Avail  was  poAvdered  Avith  fine  fresh  plasterr\  This 
had  probably  been  inscribed  dm’ing  the  nighfT  What 
Avas  it,  — an  address,  a signal  for  others,  or  a warn- 
ing for  himself?  In  any  case,  it  Avas  CAudent  that  the 
secrecy  of  the  garden  was  violated,  and  that  stran- 
gers entered  it.  d3e  remembered  the  strange  incidents 
Avhich  had  already  alarmed  the  house,'" and  his  mind 
Avas  at  work  on  this  subject ; but  he  Avas  careful  not 
to  say  a Avord  to  Cosette  about  the  line  Avritten  on 
the  Avail,  for  fear  of  alarming  her.  In  the  midst  of 


JEAN  VALJEAN. 


331 


his  troubled  thoughts  he  perceived,  from  a shadow 
which  the  sun  threw,  that  some  one  was  standing  on 
the  crest  of  the  slope  immediately  behind  him.  He 
was  just  going  to  turn,  when  a folded  paper  fell  on 
his  knees,  as  if  a hand  had  thrown  it  over  his  head  ; 
he  opened  the  paper  and  read  these  words,  written 
in  large  characters,  and  in  pencil  ; Leave  your 

HOUSE. 

Jean  Valjean  rose  smartly,  but  there  was  no  longer 
any  one  on  the  slope ; he  looked  round  him,  and 
perceived  a person,  taller  than  a child  and  shorter 
than  a man,  dressed  in  a gray  blouse  and  dust- 
colored  cotton-velvet  trousers,  bestriding  the  para- 
pet, and  slipping  down  into  the  moat  of  the  Champ 
de  Mars.  Jean  Valjean  at  once  went  home  very 
thoughtfully. 


CHAPTER  II. 


MARIUS. 

Marius  had  left  M,  Gillenormand’s  house  in  a 
wretched  state ; he  had  gone  in  with  very  small 
hopes,  and  came  out  with  an  immense  despair. 
However,  — • those  who  have  watched  the  beginnings 
of  the  human  heart  will  comprehend  it,  — the  lancer, 
the  officer,  the  fop,  cousin  Th^odule,  had  left  no 
shado-H^  on  his  mind,  not  the  slightest.  The  dramatic 
poet  might  apparently  hope  for  some  complications 
to  be  produced  by  this  revelation,  so  coarsely  made 
to  the  grandson  by  the  grandfather ; but  what  the 
drama  would  gain  by  it  truth  would  lose.  Marius 
was  at  that  age  when  a man  believes  nothing  that 
is  wrong ; later  comes  the  age  when  he  believes 
everything.  Suspicions  are  only  wrinkles,  and  early 
youth  has  none  ; what  o’erthrows  Othello  glides  over 
Candide.  Suspect  Cosette  ? Marius  could  have  com- 
mitted a multitude  of  crimes  more  easily.  He  began 
walking  about  the  streets,  the  resource  of  those  who 
suffer,  and  he  thought  of  nothing  which  he  might 
have  remembered.  At  two  in  the  morning  he  went 
to  Courfeyrac’s  lodging  and  threw  himself  on  his 
mattress  full  dressed ; it  was  bright  sunshine  when 
he  fell  asleep,  with  that  frightful  oppressive  sleep 


MARIUS. 


333 


which  allows  ideas  to  come  and  go  in  the  brain. 
When  he  awoke  he  saw  Courfeyrac,  Enjolras,  Feuilly, 
and  Conibeferre,  all  ready  to  go  ont,  and  extremely 
busy.  Courfeyrac  said  to  him,  — 

“Are  you  coming  to  General  Lamarque’s  funeral?” 

It  seemed  to  him  as  if  Courfeyrac  were  talking 
Chinese.  He  went  out  shortly  after  them,  and  put 
in  his  pockets  the  pistols  which  Javert  had  intrusted 
to  him  at  the  affair  of  February  3,  and  which  still 
remained  in  his  possession.  They  were  still  loaded, 
and  it  woidd  be  difficult  to  say  Avhat  obscure  notion 
he  had  in  his  brain  when  lie  took  them  The 
whole  day  he  wandered  about,  without  knowing 
where ; it  rained  at  times,  but  he  did  not  perceive 
it ; he  bought  for  his  dinner  a halfpenny  roll,  put  it 
in  his  pocket,  and  forgot  it.  It  appears  that  he  took 
a bath  in  the  Seine  without  being  conscious  of  it, 
for  there  are  moments  when  a man  has  a furnace 
under  his  skull,  and  Marius  had  reached  one  of  those 
moments.  He  hoped  for  nothing,  feared  nothing 
now,  and  had  taken  this  step  since  the  previous  day. 
He  awaited  the  evening  with  a feverish  impatience, 
for  he  had  but  one  clear  idea  left,  that  at  nine  o’clock 
he  should  see  Cosette.  This  last  happiness  was  now 
his  sole  future  ; after  that  came  the  shadow.  At 
times,  while  walking  along  the  most  deserted  boule- 
vards, he  imagined  that  he  could  hear  strange  noises 
in  Paris  ; then  he  thrust  his  head  out  of  his  reverie, 
and  said,  — “ Can  they  be  fighting  ? ” At  nightfall, 
at  nine  o’clock  precisely,  he  was  at  the  Rue  Plumet, 
as  he  had  promised  Cosette.  He  had  not  seen  her 
for  eight-aud-forty  hours  ; he  was  about  to  see  her 


334 


THE  RUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


again.  Every  other  thought  was  effaced,  and  he 
only  felt  an  extraordinary  and  profound  joy.  Those 
minutes  in  which  men  live  ages  have  this  sovereign 
and  admirable  thing  about  them,  that  at  the  moment 
when  they  pass  they  entirely  occupy  the  heart. 

Marius  removed  the  railing  and  rushed  into  the 
garden.  Cosette  was  not  at  the  place  where  she 
usually  waited  for  him,  and  he  crossed  the  garden 
and  went  to  the  niche  near  the  terrace.  “ She  is 
waiting  for  me  there,”  he  said;  but  Cosette  was  not 
there.  He  raised  his  eyes  and  saw  that  the  shutters 
of  the  house  were  closed ; he  walked  round  the  gar- 
den, and  the  garden  was  deserted^ Then  he  returned 
to  the  garden,  and,  mad  with  love,  terrified,  exas- 
perated with  grief  and  anxiety,  he  rapped  at  the 
shutters,  like  a master  who  returns  home  at  a late 
hour.  He  rapped,  he  rapped  again,  at  the  risk  of 
seeing  the  window  open  and  the  father’s  frowning 
face  appear  and  ask  him,  — “ What  do  you  want  ? ” 
This  was  nothing  to  what  he  caught  a glimpse  of. 
When  he  had  rapped,  he  raised  his  voice,  and  called 
Cosette.  “ Cosette  ! ” he  cried  : “ Cosette  ! ” he  re- 
peated imperiously.  There  was  no  answer.  It  was 
all  over ; there  was  no  one  in  the  garden,  no  one  in 
the  house.  Marius  fixed  his  desperate  eyes  on  this 
mournful  house,  which  was  as  black,  as  silent,  and 
more  empty,  than  a tomb.  He  gazed  at  the  stone 
bench  on  which  he  had  spent  so  many  adorable 
hours  by  Cosette’s  side;  then  he  sat  down  on  the 
garden  steps,  with  his  heart  full  of  gentleness  and 
resolution  ; he  blessed  his  love  in  his  heart,  and  said 
to  himself  that  since  Cosette  was  gone  all  left  him 


MARIUS. 


335 


vras  to  die.^  All  at  once  he  heard  a voice  whicli 
seemed  to  come  from  the  street,  crying  through  the 
trees,  — 

“ Monsieur  Marius  ! ” 

He  drew  himself  up. 

“ Hilloh  ! ” he  said. 

“ Monsieur  Marius,  are  you  there  ? ” 

1 es. 

“ Monsieur  Marius,”  the  voice  resumed,  “ your 
friends  are  waiting  for  you  at  the  barricade  in  the 
Rue  de  la  Chanvrerie.” 

This  voice  was  not  entirely  strange  to  him,  and 
resembled  Eponine’s  rough,  hoarse  accents.  Marius 
ran  to  the  railings,  pulled  aside  the  shifting  bar, 
passed  his  head  through,  and  saw  some  one,  who 
seemed  to  be  a young  man,  running  away  in  the 
gloaming. 


CHAPTER  III. 


M,  MABCEUF. 

Jean  Valjean’s  purse  was  useless  to  M.  Mabceuf, 
wlio  in  his  venerable  childish  austerity  had  not 
accepted  the  gift  of  the  stars ; he  had  not  allowed 
that  a star  could  coin  itself  into  louis  d’or,  and  he 
had  not  guessed  that  what  fell  from  heaven  came 
from  Gavroche.  Hence  he  carried  the  purse  to  the 
police  commissary  of  the  district,  as  a lost  object, 
placed  by  the  finder  at  the  disposal  of  the  claimants. 
The  purse  was  really  lost ; we  need  hardly  say  that 
no  one  claimed  it,  and  it  did  not  help  M,  IMaboeuf. 
In  other  respects  M.  Mabceuf  had  continued  to  de- 
scend : and  the  indigo  experiments  had  succeeded  no 
better  at  the  Jardin  des  Plantes  than  in  his  garden 
of  Austerlitz,  The  previous  year  he  owed  his  house- 
keeper her  wages ; and  now,  as  we  have  seen,  he 
owed  his  landlord  his  rent.  The  Government  pawn- 
brokers’ office  sold  the  copper-plates  of  his  Flora, 
at  the  expiration  of  thirteen  months,  and  a copper- 
smith had  made  stewpans  of  them.  When  his 
plates  had  disappeared,  as  he  could  no  longer  com- 
plete the  unbound  copies  of  his  Flora,  which  he 
still  possessed,  he  sold  off  plates  and  text  to  a second- 
hand bookseller  as  defective.  Nothing  was  then  left 
him  of  the  labor  of  his  whole  life,  and  he  began 


M.  MABCEDF. 


337 


eating  the  money  produced  by  these  copies.  When  he 
saw  that  this  poor  resource  was  growing  exhausted 
he  gave  up  his  garden,  and  did  not  attend  to  it ; 
before,  and  long  before,  lie  had  given  up  the  two 
esrjirs  and  the  slice  of  beef  which  he  ate  from  time  to 
time,  and  now  dined  on  bread  and  potatoes.  He 
had  sold  his  last  articles  of  furniture,  then  everything 
he  had  in  duplicate,  in  linen,  clothes,  and  coverlids, 
and  then  his  herbals  and  plates  ; but  he  still  had  his 
most  precious  books,  among  them  being  several  of 
great  rarity,  such  as  the  “ Les  Quadrins  Historiques 
de  la  Bible,”  the  edition  of  1560  ; “ La  Concordance 
des  Bibles,  ’ of  Pierre  de  Besse  ; “ Les  Marguerites 
de  la  iMarguerite,”  of  Jean  de  la  Haye,  with  a dedi- 
cation to  the  Queen  of  Navarre  ; the  work  on  the 
“ Duties  and  Dignity  of  an  Ambassador,”  by  the  Sieur 
de  Yilliers  Hotmail ; a “ Florilegium  Rabbinicum,” 
of  1644 ; a Tibullus,  of  1567,  with  the  splendid  im- 
print “ Venetiis,  in  aedibus  Manutianis ; ” and  lastly  a 
Diogenes  Laertius,  printed  at  Lyons  in  1644,  in  which 
were  tlie  famous  various  readings  of  the  Vatican 
manuscript  411,  of  the  thirteenth  century,  and  those 
of  the  two  Venetian  codices  393  and  394,  so  usefully 
consulted  by  Henri  Estienne,  and  all  the  passages 
in  the  Doric  dialect,  only  to  be  found  in  the  cele- 
brated twelfth  century  manuscript  of  the  Naples 
library.  M.  Maboeuf  never  lit  a fire  in  his  room,  and 
went  to  bed  with  the  sun,  in  order  not  to  burn  a 
candle  : it  seemed  as  if  he  no  longer  had  neighbors, 
for  they  shunned  him  when  he  went  out,  and  he 
noticed  it.  The  wretchedness  of  a child  interests  a 
mother,  the  wretchedness  of  a youth  interests  an  old 

VOL.  IV.  22 


338 


THE  EUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


mau,  but  the  wretchedness  of  an  old  mau  interests 
nobody,  and  it  is  the  coldest  of  all  distresses.  Still 
M.  Maboeuf  had  not  entirely  lost  his  childlike  seren- 
ity ; his  eye  acquired  some  vivacity  when  it  settled 
on  his  books,  and  he  smiled  when  he  regarded  the 
Diogenes  Laertius,  which  was  a unique  copy.  His 
glass  case  was  the  only  furniture  which  he  had 
retained  beyond  what  was  indispensable.  One  day 
Mother  Plutarch  said  to  him,  — 

“ I have  no  money  to  buy  dinner  with.” 

What  she  called  dinner  consisted  of  a loaf  and 
four  or  five  potatoes. 

“ Can’t  you  get  it  on  credit  ? ” said  M.  Maboeuf. 

“ You  know  very  well  that  it  is  refused  me.” 

M.  JMaboeuf  opened  his  bookcase,  looked  for  a 
long  time  at  all  his  books  in  turn,  as  a father,  obliged 
to  decimate  his  children,  would  look  at  them  before 
selecting,  then  took  one  up  quickly,  put  it  under  his 
arm,  and  went  out.  He  returned  two  hours  after 
with  nothing  under  his  arm,  laid  thirty  sous  on  the 
table,  and  said,  — 

“ You  will  get  some  dinner.” 

From  this  moment  IM other  Plutarch  saw  a dark 
veil,  which  was  not  raised  again,  settle  upon  the  old 
gentleman’s  candid  face.  The  next  day,  the  next 
after  that,  and  every  day,  IM.  JMaboeuf  had  to  begin 
again  ; he  went  out  with  a book  and  returned  with 
a i^iece  of  silver.  As  the  second-hand  booksellers 
saw  that  he  was  compelled  to  sell,  they  bought  for 
twenty  sous  books  for  Avhich  he  had  paid  twenty 
francs,  and  frequently  to  the  same  dealers.  Volume 
by  volume  his  whole  library  passed  away,  and  he 


M.  MABCEUF. 


339 


said  at  times,  “ And  yet  I am  eighty  years  of  age,” 
as  if  he  had  some  lurking  hope  that  he  should  reach 
the  end  of  his  days  ere  he  reached  the  end  of  his 
books.  His  sorrow  grew,  but  once  he  had  a joy  : 
he  went  out  with  a Robert  Estienne,  which  he  sold 
for  thirty-five  sous  on  the  Quai  Malaquais,  and  came 
home  with  an  Aldus  which  he  had  bought  for  forty 
sous  in  the  Rue  de  Grbs.  “ I owe  five  sous,”  he 
said  quite  radiantly  to  Mother  Plutarch,  but  that 
day  he  did  not  dine.  He  belonged  to  the  Horticul- 
tural Society,  and  his  poverty  was  knovm.  The 
President  of  the  Society  called  on  him,  promised  to 
speak  about  him  to  the  Minister  of  Commerce  and 
Agriculture,  and  did  so.  “ What  do  you  say  ? ” the 
minister  exclaimed.  “ I should  think  so  ! an  old 
savant ! a botanist ! an  inoffensive  man  ! we  must 
do  something  for  him.”  The  next  day  M.  Maboeuf 
received  an  inHtation  to  dine  with  the  minister,  and, 
trembling  with  joy,  showed  the  letter  to  Mother 
Plutarch.  “ We  are  saved  ! ” he  said.  On  the  ap- 
pointed day  he  went  to  the  minister’s,  and  noticed 
that  his  ragged  cravat,  his  long,  square-cut  coat,  and 
shoes  varnished  with  white  of  egg,  astounded  the 
footman.  No  one  spoke  to  him,  not  even  the  min- 
ister, and  at  about  ten  in  the  evening,  while  still 
waiting  for  a word,  he  heard  the  minister’s  ^\dfe, 
a handsome  lady  in  a low-necked  dress,  whom  he 
had  not  dared  to  approach,  ask,  “ Who  can  that  old 
gentleman  be  ? ” He  went  home  afoot  at  midnight 
through  tlie  pouring  rain ; he  had  sold  an  Elzevir 
to  pay  his  hackney  coach  in  going. 

Every  evening,  before  going  to  bed,  he  had  fallen 


340 


THE  KUE  PLUMET  IDYLL. 


into  the  habit  of  reading  a few  pages  of  his  Diogenes 
Laertius  ; for  he  knew  enough  of  Greek  to  enjoy  the 
peculiarities  of  the  text  which  he  possessed,  and  had 
no  other  joy  now  left  him.  A few  weeks  passed 
away,  and  all  at  once  Mother  Plutarch  fell  ill.  There 
is  one  thing  even  more  sad  than  having  no  money  to 
buy  bread  at  a baker’s,  and  that  is,  not  to  have 
money  to  buy  medicine  at  the  chemist’s.  One  night 
the  doctor  had  ordered  a most  expensive  potion, 
and  tlien  the  disease  grew  worse,  and  a nurse  was 
necessary.  M.  ISIaboeuf  opened  his  bookcase,  but 
there  was  nothing  left  in  it ; the  last  volume  had 
departed,  and  the  only  thing  left  him  was  the  Diogenes 
Laertius.  He  placed  the  unique  copy  under  his  arm 
and  went  out,  — it  was  June  4,  1832  ; he  proceeded 
to  Royol's  successor  at  the  Porte  St.  Jacques,  and 
returned  with  one  hundred  francs.  He  placed  the 
pile  of  five-franc  pieces  on  the  old  servant’s  table, 
and  entered  his  bedroom  without  uttering  a syllable. 
At  dawn  of  the  next  day  he  seated  himself  on  the 
overturned  post  in  his  garden,  and  over  the  hedge 
he  might  have  been  seen  the  whole  moniing,  motion- 
less, with  drooping  head,  and  eyes  vaguely  fixed  on 
the  faded  flower-beds.  It  rained  every  now  and  then, 
but  the  old  man  did  not  seem  to  notice  it ; but  in  the 
afternoon  extraordinary  noises  broke  out  in  Paris, 
resembling  musket-shots,  and  the  clamor  of  a mul- 
titude. Father  Maboeuf  raised  his  head,  noticed  a 
gardener  passing,  and  said,  — 

“ What  is  the  matter  ? ’’ 

The  gardener  replied,  with  the  spade  on  his  back, 
and  with  the  most  peaceful  accent,  — 


M.  JIABCEUF. 


3ll 


“ It ’s  the  riots.” 

“ ^yhat ! Riots  ? ” 

“ Yes  ; they  are  fighting.” 

“ Why  are  they  fighting  ? ” 

“ The  Lord  alone  knows,”  said  the  gardener. 

“ In  what  direction  ? ” 

“ Over  by  the  arsenal.” 

Father  iNIaboeuf  went  into  his  house,  took  his  hat, 
mechanically  sought  for  a book  to  place  under  his 
arm,  found  none,  said,  “ Ah,  it  is  true  ! ” and  went 
out  with  a wandering  look. 


BOOK  X. 


THE  FIFTH  OF  JUNE,  1832. 


CHAPTER  1. 

THE  SURFACE  OP  THE  QUESTION. 

Op  what  is  a revolt  composed  ? Of  nothing  and 
of  everything,  of  an  electricity  released  by  degrees, 
of  a flame  which  suddenly  breaks  out,  of  a wandering 
strength  and  a passing  breath.  This  breath  meets 
with  heads  that  talk,  brains  that  dream,  souls  that 
suffer,  passions  that  burn,  and  miseries  which  yell, 
and  carries  them  off  with  it.  Whither  ? It  is  chance 
work  ; through  the  State,  through  the  laws,  through 
prosperity  and  the  insolence  of  others.  Irritated  con- 
victions, embittered  enthusiasms,  aroused  indigna- 
tions, martial  instincts  suppressed,  youthful  courage 
exalted,  and  generous  blindnesses  ; curiosity,  a taste 
for  a change,  thirst  for  something  unexpected,  the 
feeling  which  causes  us  to  find  pleasure  in  reading 
the  announcement  of  a new  piece,  or  on  hearing  the 
machinist’s  whistle  ; vague  hatreds,  rancors,  disap- 
pointments, every  vanity  which  believes  that  destiny 
has  been  a bankrupt  to  it ; straitened  circumstances, 
empty  dreams,  ambitions  surrounded  with  escarp- 


THE  SURFACE  OF  THE  QUESTION.  343 

ments,  every  man  who  hopes  for  an  issue  from  an 
overthrow,  and,  lastly,  at  the  very  bottom,  the  mob, 
that  mud  which  takes  fire,  — such  ^ire  the  elements 
of  riot.  The  greatest  and  the  most  infamous,  beings 
who  prowl  about  beyond  the  pale  of  everything  while 
awaiting  an  opportunity,  gypsies,  nameless  men, 
highway  vagabonds,  the  men  who  sleep  o’  nights  in 
a desert  of  houses  with  no  other  roof  but  the  cold 
clouds  of  heaven,  those  who  daily  ask  their  bread  of 
chance  and  not  of  toil ; the  unknown  men  of  wretched- 
ness and  nothingness,  bare  arms  and  bare  feet,  be- 
long to  the  riot.  Every  man  who  has  in  his  soul 
a secret  revolt  against  any  act  of  the  State,  of  life, 
or  of  destiny,  borders  on  riot ; and  so  soon  as  it  ap- 
pears he  begins  to  quiver  and  to  feel  himself  lifted 
by  the  whirlwind. 

Riot  is  a species  of  social  atmospheric  Avaterspout, 
which  is  suddenly  formed  in  certain  conditions  of 
temperature,  and  which  in  its  revolutions  mounts, 
runs,  thunders,  tears  up,  razes,  crushes,  demolishes, 
and  uproots,  bearing  AAnth  it  grand  and  paltry  natures, 
the  strong  man  and  the  weak  mind,  the  trunk  of 
a tree  and  the  wisp  of  straw.  Woe  to  the  man 
whom  it  carries  as  Avell  as  to  the  one  it  dashes  at, 
for  it  breaks  one  against  the  other.  It  communicates 
to  those  whom  it  seizes  a strange  and  extraordinary 
power ; it  fills  the  first  comer  Avith  the  force  of  eA^ents 
and  conA’erts  eA’erything  into  projectiles ; it  makes  a 
cannon-ball  of  a stone,  and  a general  of  a porter.  If 
we  may  belieA^e  certain  oracles  of  the  crafty  policy, 
a little  amount  of  riot  is  desirable  from  the  governing 
point  of  A’iew.  The  system  is,  that  riot  strengthens 


344 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


those  governments  which  it  does  not  ovcrtlirow  ; it 
tries  the  army ; it  concentrates  the  bourgeoisie, 
strengthens  the  muscles  of  the  police,  and  displays 
the  force  of  the  social  framework.  It  is  a lesson 
in  gymnastics,  and  almost  hygiene ; and  power  feels 
better  after  a riot,  as  a man  does  after  a rubbing 
down.  Riot,  thirty  years  ago,  was  also  regarded 
from  other  stand-points.  There  is  for  everything  a 
theory  which  proclaims  itself  as  “ common  sense,” 
a mediation  offered  between  the  true  and  the  false  : 
explanation,  admonition,  and  a somewhat  haughty 
extenuation  which,  because  it  is  composed  of  blame 
and  apology,  believes  itself  wisdom,  and  is  often 
nothing  but  pedantry.  An  entire  political  school, 
called  the  “ Juste  milieu,”  emanated  from  this,  and 
between  cold  water  and  hot  water  there  is  the  luke- 
warm-water party.  This  school,  with  its  false  depth 
entirely  superficial,  which  dissects  effects  without 
going  back  to  causes,  scolds,  from  the  elevation  of 
semi-science,  the  agitations  of  the  juiblic  streets. 

If  we  listen  to  this  school  we  hear:  “Theriots 
which  complicated  the  deed  of  1830  deprived  that 
grand  event  of  a portion  of  its  purity.  The  revolu- 
tion of  July  was  a fine  blast  of  the  popular  wind, 
suddenly  followed  by  a blue  sky,  and  the  riot  caused 
a cloudy  sky  to  reappear,  and  compelled  the  revolu- 
tion, originally  so  remarkable  through  unanimity,  to 
degenerate  into  a quarrel.  In  the  revolution  of  July, 
as  in  every  progress  produced  by  a shock,  there  were 
secret  fractures ; the  riot  rendered  them  perceptible. 
After  the  revolution  of  July  only  the  deliverance  was 
felt,  but  after  the  riots  the  catastrophe  Avas  felt. 


THE  SURFACE  OF  THE  QUESTION.  345 

Every  riot  closes  shops,  depresses  the  funds,  conster- 
uixtes  the  Stock  Exchange,  suspends  trade,  checks 
business,  and  entails  bankruptcies;  there  is  no  money, 
trade  is  disconcerted,  capital  is  Avithdrawn,  labor  is 
at  a discount,  there  is  fear  everyAAdiere,  and  counter- 
strokes take  place  in  e\'ery  city,  whence  come  gulfs. 
It  is  calculated  that  the^first  day  of  riot  costs  France 
twenty  millions  of  francs,  the  second  forty,  and  the 
third  sixty.  Hence  a riot  of  three  days  costs  one  hun- 
dred and  tAventy  millions  ; that  is  to  say,  if  Ave  only 
regard  the  financial  result,  is  equi\’aleut  to  a disaster, 
shipAvreck,  or  lost  action,  Avhich  might  annihilate  a 
fieet  of  sixty  A'essels  of  the  line.  Indubitably,  riots, 
historically  regarded,  had  their  beauty;  the  Avar  of 
the  paving-stones  is  no  less  grand  or  pathetic  than 
the  war  of  thickets ; in  the  one  there  is  the  soul  of 
forests,  in  the  other  the  heart  of  cities  ; one  has  Jean 
Chouan,  the  other  has  Jeanne.  Riots  lit  up  luridly 
but  splendidly  all  the  most  original  features  of  the 
Parisian  cliaracter,  — generosity,  devotion,  stormy 
gayety,  students  proving  that  bravery  forms  a part 
of  intellect,  the  National  Guard  unswerAung,  biAmuacs 
formed  by  shop-keepers,  fortresses  held  by  gamins, 
and  contempt  of  death  in  the  passers-by.  Schools 
and  legions  came  into  collision,  but,  after  all,  there 
was  only  the  difierence  of  age  betAveen  the  combat- 
ants, and  they  are  the  same  race ; the  same  stoical 
men  who  die  at  the  age  of  twenty  for  their  ideas, 
and  at  forty  for  their  families ; the  army,  eA^er  sad  in 
cml  wars,  opposed  prudence  to  audacity ; and  the 
riots,  Avhile  manifesting  the  popular  intrepidity,  Avere 
the  education  of  the  bourgeois  courage.  That  is  all 


346 


THE  EUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC- 


very  well,  but  is  all  this  worth  the  blood  shed  ? And 
then  add  to  the  bloodshed  the  future  darkened,  pro- 
gress compromised,  anxiety  among  the  better  classes, 
honest  liberals  despairing,  foreign  absolutism  de- 
lighted at  these  wounds  dealt  to  revolution  by  itself, 
and  the  conquered  of  1830  triumphing  and  shouting, 
‘ Did  we  not  say  so  ? ’ Add  Paris  possibly  aggran- 
dized, France  assuredly  diminished.  Add  — for  we 
must  tell  the  whole  truth  — ■ the  massacres  which  too 
often  dishonored  the  victory  of  order,  which  became 
ferocious,  over  liberty  which  went  mad,  and  we  must 
arrive  at  the  conclusion  that  riots  have  been  fatal.” 

Thus  speaks  that  wisdom,  almost,  with  which  the 
bourgeoisie,  that  people,  almost,  are  so  readily  con- 
tented. For  our  part,  we  regret  the  word  riots  as 
being  too  wide,  and  consequently  too  convenient, 
and  make  a distinction  between  one  popular  move- 
ment and  another ; jve  do  not  ask  ourselves  Avhether 
a riot  costs  as  much  as  a battle.  In  the  first  place, 
why  a battle  ? Here  the  question  of  war  arises.  Is 
war  less  a scourge  than  riot  is  a calamity  ? And  then, 
are  all  riots  calamities  ? And  even  supposing  that 
July  14  cost  one  hundred  and  twenty  millions,  the 
establishment  of  Philip  V.  in  Spain  cost  France  two 
billions,  and  even  were  the  price  equal  we  should 
Ijrefer  the  14th  July.  Besides,  we  reject  these  fig- 
ures, which  seem  reasons  and  are  only  words,  and  a 
riot  being  given,  we  examine  it  in  itself.  In  all  that 
the  doctrinaire  objection  we  have  just  reproduced 
says,  the  only  question  is  the  effect,  and  we  seek  for 
the  cause. 


CHAPTER  II. 


THE  BOTTOM  OF  THE  QUESTION. 

There  is  riot,  and  there  is  insurrection ; they  are 
two  passions,  one  of  which  is  just,  the  other  unjust. 
In  democratic  States,  the  only  ones  based  on  justice, 
it  sometimes  happens  that  the  fi'action  usurps  power ; 
in  that  case  the  whole  people  rises,  and  the  necessary 
demand  for  its  rights  may  go  so  far  as  taking  up 
arms.  In  all  the  questions  which  result  from  collec- 
tive sovereignty,  the  war  of  all  against  the  fraction 
is  insurrection,  and  the  attack  of  the  fraction  on  the 
masses  is  a riot ; according  as  the  Tuileries  contain 
the  king  or  the  convention,  they  are  justly  or  unjustly 
attacked.  The  same  guns  pointed  at  the  mob  are  in 
the  wrong  on  August  14,  and  in  the  right  on  the 
14th  Vend^miaire.  Their  appearance  is  alike,  but 
the  base  is  different ; the  Svdss  defend  what  is  false, 
and  Bonaparte  what  is  true.  What  universal  suf- 
frage has  done  in  its  liberty  and  its  sovereignty  cannot 
be  undone  by  the  street.  It  is  the  same  in  matters 
of  pure  cmlization,  and  the  instinct  of  the  masses, 
clear-sighted  yesterday,  may  be  perturbed  to-morrow. 
The  same  fury  is  legitimate  against  Terray  and  ab- 
surd against  Turgot.  Smashing  engines,  pillaging 
store-houses,  tearing  up  rails,  the  demolition  of  docks. 


348 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


the  wrong  ways  of  multitudes,  the  denial  of  popular 
justice  to  progress,  Ramus  assassinated  by  the  schol- 
ars, and  Rousseau  expelled  from  Switzerland  by 
stones,  — all  this  is  riot.  Israel  rising  against  Moses, 
Athens  against  Phocion,  Rome  against  Scipio,  are 
riots,  while  Paris  attacking  the  Bastille  is  insurrec- 
tion. The  soldiers  opposing  Alexander,  the  sailors 
mutinying  against  Christopher  Columbus,  are  the 
same  revolt,  — an  impious  revolt ; why  ? Because 
Alexander  does  for  Asia  with  the  sword  what  Colum- 
bus does  for  America  with  the  compass ; Alexander, 
like  Columbus,  finds  a world.  These  gifts  of  a world 
to  civilization  are  such  increments  of  light,  that  any 
resistance  in  such  a case  is  culpable.  At  times  the 
people  breaks  its  fidelity  to  itself,  and  the  mob  be- 
haves treacherously  to  the  people.  Can  anything, 
for  instance,  be  stranger  than  the  long  and  sangui- 
nary protest  of  the  salt  smugglers,  a legitimate 
chronic  revolt  which  at  the  decisive  moment,  on 
the  day  of  salvation,  and  in  the  hour  of  the  popular 
victory,  espouses  the  throne,  turns  royalist,  and  in- 
stead of  an  insurrection  against  the  government  be- 
comes a riot  for  it  ? These  are  gloomy  masterpieces 
of  ignorance.  The  salt  smuggler  escapes  from  the 
royal  gallows,  and  with  the  noose  still  round  his 
neck  mounts  the  white  cockade.  “ Death  to  the  salt 
taxes  ” brings  into  the  world,  “ Long  live  the  king.” 
The  killers  of  St.  Bartholomew,  the  murderers  of 
September,  the  massacrers  of  Avignon,  the  assassins 
of  Coligny,  of  Madame  de  Lamballe,  the  assassins  of 
Brune,  the  Miquelets,  the  Verdets,  and  the  Caden- 
ettes,  the  Companions  of  Jehu,  and  the  Chevaliers  du 


THE  BOTTOM  OE  THE  QUESTION. 


349 


Brassard,  — all  this  is  riot.  The  Vendee  is  a grand 
Catliolic  riot.  The  sound  of  right  in  motion  can  be 
recognized,  and  it  does  not  always  come  from  the 
trembling  of  the  overthrown  masses ; there  are  mad 
furies  and  cracked  bells,  and  all  the  tocsins  do  not 
give  the  sound  of  bronze.  The  commotion  of  pas- 
sions and  ignorances  differs  from  the  shock  of  pro- 
gress. Rise,  if  you  like,  but  oidy  to  grow,  and  show 
me  in  what  direction  you  are  going,  for  insurrection 
is  only  possible  Muth  a forward  movement.  Any 
other  uprising  is  bad,  every  violent  step  backwards 
is  riot,  and  recoiling  is  an  assault  upon  the  human 
race.  Insurrection  is  the  outburst  of  tlie  fury  of 
truth  ; the  paving-stones  which  insurrection  tears  up 
emit  the  spark  of  right,  and  they  only  leave  to  riot 
their  mud.  Daiiton  rising  against  Louis  XVI.  is  in- 
surrection ; Hebert  against  Danton  is  riot. 

Hence  it  comes  that  if  insurrection  in  given  cases 
may  be,  as  Lafayette  said,  the  most  holy  of  duties, 
riot  may  be  the  most  fatal  of  attacks.  There  is  also 
some  difference  in  the  intensity  of  caloric ; insurrec- 
tion is  often  a volcano,  a riot  often  a straw  fire. 
Revolt,  as  we  have  said,  is  sometimes  found  in  the 
power.  Polignac  is  a rioter,  and  Camille  Desmoulins 
is  a government.  At  times  insurrection  is  a resurrec- 
tion. The  solution  of  everything  by  universal  suffrage 
being  an  absolutely  modern  fact,  and  all  history  an- 
terior to  that  fact  being  for  four  thousand  years  filled 
with  violated  right  and  the  suffering  of  the  peoples, 
each  epoch  of  history  brings  with  it  the  protest  which 
is  possible  to  it.  Under  the  Caesars  there  was  no 
insurrection,  but  there  was  Juvenal.  Ihafacit  indiy^ 


350 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


natio  takes  the  place  of  the  Gracchi.  Under  the 
Caesars  there  is  the  Exile  of  Syene,  and  there  is  also 
the  man  of  the  “ Annals.”  We  will  not  refer  to  the 
immense  Exile  of  Patinos,  who  also  crushes  the  real 
world  with  a protest  in  the  name  of  the  ideal  world, 
converts  a vision  into  an  enormous  satire,  and  casts 
on  Rome-Niueveh,  Rome-Babylon,  and  Rome-Sodom 
the  flashing  reflection  of  the  Apocalypse.  John  on  his 
rock  is  the- sphinx  on  its  pedestal.  We  cannot  under- 
stand him,  for  he  is  a Jew,  and  writes  in  Hebrew ; 
but  the  man  who  writes  the  “ Annals  ” is  a Latin, 
or,  to  speak  more  correctly,  a Roman.  As  the  Neros 
reign  in  the  black  manner,  they  must  be  painted  in 
the  same.  Work  produced  by  the  graver  alone  would 
be  pale,  and  so  a concentrated  biting  prose  must  be 
poured  into  the  lines.  Despots  are  of  some  service  to 
thinkers,  for  chained  language  is  terrible  language,  and 
the  writer  doubles  and  triples  his  style  when  silence  is 
imposed  by  a master  on  the  people.  There  issues  from 
this  silence  a certain  mysterious  fulness  which  filters 
<and  fixes  itself  in  bronze  in  the  thought.  Compres- 
sion in  history  produces  conciseness  in  the  historian, 
and  the  granitic  solidity  of  certain  celebrated  prose 
is  nothing  but  a pressure  put  on  by  the  tyrant. 
Tyranny  forces  the  writer  into  contraction  of  the 
diameter,  which  is  increase  of  strength.  The  Cicero- 
nian period,  scarce  sufficient  for  Verres,  would  be 
blunted  upon  a Caligula.  The  less  spread  in  the 
phrase,  the  more  weiglit  in  the  blow.  The  thoughts 
of  Tacitus  come  straight  from  the  shoulder.  The 
honesty  of  a great  heart  condensed  in  justice  and 
truth  is  annihilating. 


THE  BOTTOM  OF  THE  QUESTION. 


351 


Wc  must  observe,  by  the  way,  that  Tacitus  is  not 
historically  superimposed  ou  Ceesar,  aud  the  Tiberii 
are  reserved  for  him.  Caesar  aud  Tacitus  are  two 
successive  phenomena,  whose  meeting  seems  to  be 
mysteriously  prevented  by  Him  who  regulates  the 
entrances  and  exits  on  the  stage  of  centuries. 
Caesar  is  great,  Tacitus  is  great,  and  God  spares 
these  two  grandeurs  by  not  bringing  them  into  col- 
lision. The  judge,  in  striking  Caesar,  might  strike 
too  hard  and  be  unjust,  and  God  does  not  udsh  that. 
The  gi’eat  wars  of  Africa  and  Spain,  the  Cilician 
pirates  destroyed,  civilization  introduced  into  Gaul, 
Britain,  and  Germany,  — all  this  glory  covers  the 
Rubicon.  There  is  in  this  a species  of  delicacy  on 
the  part  of  divine  justice,  hesitating  to  let  loose  oif 
the  illustrious  usurper  the  formidable  historian,  saving 
Caesar  from  the  sentence  of  a Tacitus,  and  granting 
extenuating  circumstalices  to  genius.  Assuredly  des- 
potism remains  despotism,  even  under  the  despot  of 
genius.  There  is  corruption  under  illustrious  tyrants, 
but  the  moral  plague  is  more  hideous  still  under  in-v. 
famous  tyrants.  In  such  reigns  nothing  veils  the 
shame  ; and  the  producers  of  examples,  Tacitus  like 
Juvenal,  buffet  more  usefully  in  the  presence  of  this 
human  race  this  ignominy,  which  has  no  reply  to  make. 
Rome  smells  worse  under  Vitellius  than  under  Sylla  ; 
under  Claudius  and  Domitian  there  is  a deformity  of 
baseness  corresponding  with  the  ugliness  of  the  ty- 
rant. The  foulness  of  the  slaves  is  the  direct  product 
of  the  despots ; a miasma  is  extracted  from  these 
crouching  consciences  in  which  the  master  is  re- 
flected ; the  public  power  is  unclean,  heads  are  small, 


352 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


consciences  flat,  and  souls  vermin ; this  is  the  case 
under  Caracalla,  Commodus,  and  Heliogabalus,  while 
from  the  Roman  senate  under  Csesar  there  only  issues 
the  smell  of  dung  peculiar  to  eagles’  nests.  Hence 
the  apparently  tardy  arrival  of  Juvenal  and  Tacitus, 
for  the  demonstrator  steps  in  at  the  hour  for  the  ex- 
periment to  be  performed. 

But  Juvenal  or  Tacitus,  like  Isaiah  in  biblical 
times  and  Dante  in  the  Middle  Ages,  is  the  man  ; 
riot  and  insurrection  are  the  multitude,  which  is 
sometimes  wrong,  sometimes  right.  In  the  most 
general  cases  riot  issues  from  a material  fact,  but  in- 
surrection is  always  a moral  phenomenon.  Riot  is 
Masaniello ; insurrection  is  Spartacus.  Insurrection 
is  related  to  the  mind,  riot  to  the  stomach  ; Gaster  is 
irritated,  but  Gaster  is  certainly  not  always  in  the 
wrong.  In  questions  of  famine,  riot,  the  Buzancais 
one,  for  instance,  has  a true,  pafthetic,  and  just  start- 
ing point,  and  yet  it  remains  a riot.  Why  ? Because, 
though  right  in  the  abstract,  it  is  wrong  in  form. 
Ferocious  though  legitimate,  violent  tliough  strong, 
it  has  struck  at  random.  It  marches  like  a blind 
elephant,  crushing  things  in  its  passage ; it  has  left 
behind  it  the  corpses  of  old  men,  women,  and  chil- 
dren, and  has  shed,  witliout  knowing  why,  the  blood 
of  tlie  unoffending  and  the  innocent.  To  nourish  the 
people  is  a good  motive,  but  to  slaughter  it  is  a bad 
means. 

All  armed  protests,  even  the  most  legitimate,  even 
August  10  and  July  14,  set  out  with  the  same  trou- 
ble, and  before  right  is  disengaged  there  are  tumult 
and  foam.  At  the  outset  an  insurrection  is  a riot,  in 
the  same  way  as  the  river  is  a torrent,  and  generally 


THE  BOTTOM  OF  THE  QUESTION.  353 

pours  itself  into  that  ocean,  Revolution,  Sometimes, 
however,  insurrection,  which  has  come  from  those 
lofty  mountains  which  command  the  moral  horizon, 
justice,  wisdom,  reason,  and  right,  and  is  composed 
of  the  purest  snow  of  the  ideal,  after  a long  fall  from 
rock  to  rock,  after  reflecting  the  sky  in  its  transpar- 
ency, and  being  swollen  by  a hundred  confluents  in 
its  majestic  course,  suddenly  loses  itself  in  some 
bourgeois  bog,  as  the  Rhine  does  in  the  marshes. 
All  this  belongs  to  the  past,  and  the  future  will  be 
different ; for  universal  suffrage  has  this  admirable 
thing  about  it,  that  it  dissolves  riot  in  its  origin,  and, 
by  gi^’ing  insurrection  a vote,  deprives  it  of  the 
weapon.  The  disappearance  of  war,  street  wars  as 
well  as  frontier  wars,  — such  is  the  inevitable  progress. 
Wliatever  To-day  may  be,  peace  is  To-morrow,  How- 
ever, the  bourgeois,  properly  so  called,  makes  but  a 
slight  distinction  between  insurrection  and  riot.  To 
him  everything  is  sedition,  pure  and  simple  rebellion, 
the  revolt  of  the  dog  against  the  master,  an  attempt 
to  bite,  which  must  be  punished  with  the  chain  and 
the  kennel,  a barking,  until  the  day  when  the  dog’s 
head,  suddenly  enlarged,  stands  out  vaguely  in  the 
shadow  with  a lion’s  face.  Then  the  bourgeois 
shouts,  “ Long  live  the  people  ! ” 

This  explanation  given,  how  does  the  movement 
of  1832  stand  to  history  ? Is  it  a riot  or  an  insur- 
rection ? It  is  an  insurrection.  It  may  happen  that 
in  the  course  of  our  narrative  of  a formidable  event 
we  may  use  the  word  “ riot,”  but  only  to  qualify  sur- 
face facts,  and  while  still  maintaining  the  distinction 
between  the  form  riot  and  the  basis  insurrection.  The 

23 


VOL.  IV. 


354 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


movement  of  1832  had  in  its  rapid  explosion  and 
mournful  exti)ictiou  so  much  grandeur  that  even 
those  who  only  see  a riot  in  it  speak  of  it  respectfully. 
To  them  it  is  like  a remnant  of  1830  ; for,  as  they 
say,  excited  imaginations  cannot  be  calmed  in  a day, 
and  a revolution  does  not  stop  short  with  a preci- 
pice, but  has  necessarily  a few  undulations  before  it 
returns  to  a state  of  peace,  like  a mountain  in  re- 
descending to  the  plain.  There  are  no  Alps  without 
Jura,  nor  Pyrenees  without  Asturia.  This  pathetic 
crisis  of  contemporary  history,  which  the  memory  of 
the  Parisians  calls  the  “ time  of  the  riots,”  is  assuredly 
a characteristic  hour  among  the  stormy  hours  of  this 
age.  One  last  word  before  we  return  to  our  story. 

The  facts  which  we  are  going  to  record  belong  to 
that  dramatic  and  living  reality  which  the  historian 
sometimes  neglects  through  want  of  time  and  space, 
but  they  contain  — we  insist  upon  it  — life,  heart- 
beats, and  human  thrills.  Small  details,  as  we  think 
we  have  said,  are,  so  to  speak,  the  foliage  of  great 
events,  and  are  lost  in  the  distance  of  history.  The 
period  called  the  riots  abounds  in  details  of  this 
nature,  and  the  judicial  inquiries,  through  other  than 
historic  reasons,  have  not  revealed  everything,  or 
perhaps  studied  it.  We  are,  therefore,  going  to 
bring  into  light  among  the  peculiaiaties  known  and 
published,  things  which  are  not  known  and  facts 
over  which  the  forgetfulness  of  some  and  the  death 
of  others  have  passed.  Most  of  the  actors  in  these 
gigantic  scenes  have  disappeared.  On  the  next  day 
they  held  their  tongues,  but  we  may  say  that  we  saw 
what  we  are  about  to  narrate.  We  will  change  a 


THE  BOTTOM  OE  THE  QUESTION. 


355 


few  names,  for  liistory  recounts  and  does  not  de- 
nounce, but  we  will  depict  true  things.  The  nature 
of  our  book  will  only  alloAV  us  to  display  one  side 
and  one  episode,  assuredly  the  least  known,  of  the 
days  of  June  5 and  6,  1832;  but  we  will  do  so  in 
such  a way  that  the  reader  will  be  enabled  to  catch 
a glimpse  of  the  real  face  of  this  frightful  public 
adventm'e  behind  the  dark  veil  which  we  are  about 
to  lift.  I 


CHAPTER  III. 


A BURIAL  GIVES  OPPORTUNITY  FOR  A REVIVAL. 

In  the  spring  of  1832,  although  for  three  months 
cholera  had  chilled  minds  and  cast  over  their  agita- 
tion a species  of  dull  calm,  Paris  had  been  for  a long 
time  ready  for  a commotion.  As  we  have  said,  the 
great  city  resembles  a piece  of  artillery  when  it  is 
loaded,- — a spark  need  only  fall  and  the  gun  goes  off. 
In  June,  1832,  the  spark  was  the  death  of  General 
Lamarque.  Lamarque  was  a man  of  renown  and  of 
action,  and  had  displayed  in  succession,  under  the 
Empire  and  the  Restoration,  the  two  braveries  neces- 
sary for  the  two  epochs,  — the  bravery  of  the  battle- 
field and  the  bravery  of  the  oratorical  tribune.  He 
was  eloquent  as  he  had  been  valiant,  and  a sword 
was  felt  in  his  words ; like  Foy,  his  predecessor,  after 
holding  the  command  erect,  he  held  liberty  erect ; 
he  sat  between  the  Left  and  the  extreme  Left,  be- 
loved by  the  people  because  he  accepted  the  chances 
of  the  future,  and  beloved  by  the  mob  because  he 
had  served  the  Emperor  well.  He  was  with  Gerard 
and  Drouet  one  of  the  Napoleon’s  marshals  in  petto, 
and  the  treaties  of  1815  affected  him  like  a personal 
insult.  He  hated  Wellington  with  a direct  hatred, 
which  pleased  the  multitude,  and  for  the  last  seventeen 


OPPORTUNITY  FOR  A REVIVAL. 


35/ 


years,  scarcely  paying  attention  to  intermediate  events, 
lie  had  majestically  nursed  his  grief  for  Waterloo.  In 
his  dying  hour  he  pressed  to  his  heart  a sword  which 
the  officers  of  the  Hundred  Days  had  given  him ; 
and  while  Napoleon  died  uttering  the  word  army, 
Lamarque  died  pronouncing  the  w'ord  country.  His 
death,  which  was  expected,  was  feared  by  the  people 
as  a loss,  and  by  the  Government  as  an  opportunity. 
This  death  was  a mourning,  and  like  everything 
which  is  bitter,  mourning  may  turn  into  revolt.  This 
really  happened.  On  the  pre^■ious  evening,  and  on 
the  morning  of  June  5th,  the  day  fixed  for  the  inter- 
ment of  Lamarque,  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine,  close 
to  which  the  procession  would  pass,  assumed  a for- 
midable aspect.  This  tumultuous  network  of  streets 
Avas  filled  with  rumors,  and  people  armed  themselves 
as  they  could.  Carpenters  carried  off  the  bolts  of 
their  shoii  “ to  break  in  doors  with  ; ” one  of  them 
made  a dagger  of  a stocking-Aveaver’s  hook,  by  break- 
ing off  the  hook  and  sharpening  the  stump.  Another 
in  his  fever  “ to  attack  ” slept  for  three  nights  in  his 
clothes.  A carpenter  of  the  name  of  Lombier  met 
a mate,  who  asked  him,  “ Where  are  you  going  ? ” 
“ AVliy,  I have  no  AA’eapon,  and  so  I am  going  to  my 
shop  to  fetch  my  compasses.”  “ ^Wiat  to  do  ? ” “I 
don’t  knoAv,”  Lombier ‘said.  A porter  of  the  name 
of  Jacqueline  arrested  any  \Amrkman  Avho  happened 
to  pass,  and  said,  “ Come  Avith  me.”  He  paid  for  a 
pint  of  wine,  and  asked,  “ HaA^e  you  Avork  ? ” “ No.” 
“ Go  to  Filspierre’s,  between  the  Montreuil  and 
Charonne  barriferes,  and  you  will  find  AVork.”  At 
FilspieiTe’s  cartridges  and  arms  were  distributed. 


358 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


Some  well-known  chiefs  went  the  rounds,  that  is  to 
say,  ran  from  one  to  the  other  to  collect  their  follow- 
ers. At  Barthelemy’s,  near  the  Barrifere  clu  TrOne, 
and  at  Capel’s,  the  Petit  Chapeau,  the  drinkers 
accosted  each  other  with  a serious  air,  and  could  be 
heard  saying,  “ Where  is  your  pistol  ? ” “ Under  my 
blouse  ; and  yours  ? ” “ Under  my  shirt.”  In  the 
Rue  Traversifere,  in  front  of  Roland’s  workshop,  and 
in  the  yard  of  the  Maison  BruMe,  before  the  work- 
shop of  Bernier  the  tool-maker,  groups  stood  whis- 
pering. The  most  ardent  among  them  was  a certain 
]\Iavot,  who  never  stopped  longer  than  a week  at  a 
shop,  for  his  masters  sent  him  away,  “ as  they  were 
obliged  to  quarrel  with  him  every  day.”  INIavot  was 
killed  the  next  day  on  the  barricade  of  the  Rue 
Menilmontant.  Pretot,  who  was  also  destined  to 
die  in  the  struggle,  seconded  Mavot,  and  replied  to 
the  question  “ What  is  your  object  ? ” “ Insurrec- 
tion.” Workmen  assembled  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue 
de  Bercy,  awaiting  a man  of  the  name  of  Lemarin, 
revolutionary  agent  for  the  Faubourg  St.  Marceau, 
and  passwords  were  exchanged  almost  publicly. 

On  June  5,  then,  a day  of  sunshine  and  shower, 
the  funeral  procession  of  General  Lamarque  passed 
through  Paris  with  the  official  military  pomp,  some- 
what increased  by  precautions.  Two  battalions  with 
covered  drums  and  reversed  muskets,  ten  thousand 
of  the  National  Guard  with  their  sabres  at  their 
side,  and  the  batteries  of  the  artillery  of  ' the  National 
Guard  escorted  the  coffin,  and  the  hearse  was  drawn 
by  young  men.  The  officers  of  the  Invalides  fol- 
lowed immediately  after,  bearing  laurel  branches,  and 


OPPOKTUNITY  FOE  A REVIVAL. 


359 


then  came  a countless,  agitated,  and  strange  multi- 
tude, the  sectionists  of  the  friends  of  the  people,  the 
school  of  law,  the  school  of  medicine,  refugees  of  all 
nations,  Spanish,  Italian,  German,  Polish  flags,  hori- 
zontal tricolor  flags,  every  banner  possible,  children 
waving  green  branches,  stone-cutters  and  carpenters 
out  of  work  at  this  very  time,  and  printers  easy  to 
recognize  by  their  paper  caps,  marching  two  and 
two,  three  and  three,  uttering  cries,  nearly  all  shak- 
ing sticks,  and  some  sabres,  without  order,  but  with 
one  soul,  at  one  moment  a mob,  at  another  a column. 
Squads  selected  their  chiefs,  and  a man  armed  with 
a brace  of  pistols,  which  were  perfectly  Gsible,  seemed 
to  pass  others  in  re\dew,  whose  files  made  way  for 
him.  On  the  sidewalks  of  the  boulevards,  on  the 
branches  of  the  trees,  in  the  balconies,  at  the  win- 
dows and  on  the  roofs,  there  was  a dense  throng  of 
men,  women,  and  children,  whose  eyes  were  full 
of  anxiety.  An  armed  crowd  passed,  and  a startled 
crowd  looked  at  it ; on  its  side  Government  was  ob- 
servdng,  with  its  hand  on  the  sword-hilt.  There  might 
be  seen,  — all  ready  to  march,  cartridge-boxes  full, 
guns  and  carbines  loaded,  — on  the  Place  Louis  XV., 
four  squadrons  of  carbineers  in  the  middle,  with 
trumpeters  in  front;  in  the  Pays  Latin,  and  at  the 
Jardin  des  Plantes,  the  municipal  guard  ^chelonned 
from  street  to  street ; at  the  Halle-aux-Vins  a squad- 
ron of  dragoons,  at  the  Grfeve  one  half  of  the  12th 
Light  Infantry,  the  other  half  at  the  Bastille  ; the 
6th  Dragoons  at  the  Celestins,  and  the  court  of  the 
Louvre  full  of  artillery.  The  rest  of  the  troops  were 
confined  to  barraeks,  without  counting  the  regiments 


360 


THE  KUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


in  the  environs  of  Paris.  The  alarmed  authori- 
ties held  suspended  over  the  threatening  multitude 
twenty-four  thousand  soldiers  in  the  city  and  thirty 
thousand  in  the  suburbs. 

Various  rumors  circulated  in  the  procession,  legiti- 
mist intrigues  were  talked  about,  and  they  spoke 
about  the  Duke  of  Reichstadt,  whom  God  was  mark- 
ing for  death  at  the  very  moment  when  the  crowd 
designated  him  for  Emperor.  A person  who  was 
never  discovered  announced  that  at  appointed  hours 
two  overseers,  gained  over,  would  open  to  the  people 
the  gates  of  a small  arm-factory.  An  enthusiasm 
blended  with  despondency  was  visible  in  the  uncov- 
ered heads  of  most  of  the  persons  present,  and  here 
and  there  too  in  this  multitude,  suffering  from  so 
many  violent  but  noble  emotions,  might  be  seen  crimi- 
nal faces  and  ignoble  lips,  that  muttered,  “ Let  us 
plunder,”  There  are  some  agitations  which  stir  up 
the  bottom  of  the  marsh  and  bring  clouds  of  mud  to 
the  surface  of  the  water ; this  is  a phenomenon  famil- 
iar to  a well-constituted  police  force.  The  procession 
proceeded  with  feverish  slowness  from  the  house  of 
death  along  the  boulevards  to  the  Bastille.  It  rained 
at  intervals,  but  the  rain  produced  no  effect  on  this 
crowd.  Several  incidents,  such  as  the  coffin  carried 
thrice  round  the  Vendome  column,  stones  thrown  at 
the  Due  de  Fitzjames,  who  was  noticed  in  a balcony 
with  his  hat  on  his  head,  the  Gallic  cock  torn  from 
a popular  flag  and  dragged  in  the  mud,  a policeman 
wounded  by  a sword-thrust  at  the  Porte  St.  Martin, 
an  officer  of  the  12th  Light  Infantry  saying  aloud,  “ I 
am  a Republican,”  the  Polytechnic  school  coming  up. 


OPPOKTUNITY  FOR  A REVIVAL. 


361 


after  forcing  the  gates,  and  the  cries  of  “ Long  live 
the  Polytechnic  School ! ” “ Long  live  the  Repub- 

lic ! ” marked  the  passage  of  the  procession.  At  the 
Bastille  long  formidable  files  of  spectators,  coming 
do^vn  from  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine,  effected  their 
junction  with  the  procession,  and  a certain  terrible 
ebullition  began  to  agitate  the  crowd.  A man  was 
heard  saying  to  another,  “ You  see  that  fellow 
with  the  red  beard ; he  will  say  when  it  is  time  to 
fire.”  It  seems  that  this  red  beard  reappeared  ndth 
the  same  functions  in  a later  riot,  the  Quenisset 
affair. 

The  hearse  passed  the  Bastille,  followed  the  canal, 
crossed  the  small  bridge,  and  reached  the  e3i)lanade 
of  the  bridge  of  Austerlitz,  where  it  halted.  At  tiiis 
moment  a bird’s-eye  view  of  the  crowd  would  have 
offered  the  appearance  of  a comet,  whose  head  was 
on  the  esplanade,  and  whose  tail  was  prolonged  upon 
the  boulevard  as  far  as  the  Porte  St.  IMartin.  A 
circle  was  formed  round  the  hearse,  and  the  vast 
crowd  was  hushed.  Lafayette  spoke,  and  bade  fare- 
well to  Lamarque  ; it  was  a touching  and  august 
moment,  — all  heads  were  uncovered,  and  all  hearts 
beat.  All  at  once  a man  on  horseback,  dressed  in 
black,  appeared  in  the  middle  of  the  gronp  with  a 
red  flag,  though  others  say  with  a pike  surmounted 
by  a red  cap.  Lafayette  turned  his  head  away,  and 
Excelmans  left  the  procession.  This  red  flag  aroused 
a storm  and  disappeared  in  it : from  the  Boulevard 
Bourdon  to  the  bridge  of  Austerlitz  one  of  those 
clamors  which  resemble  billows  stirred  up  the  multi- 
tude, and  two  prodigious  cries  were  raised,  “Lamarque 


362 


THE  EUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


to  the  Panth^ou ! ” — “ Lafayette  to  the  Hotel  de 
Yille  ! ” Young  men,  amid  the  acclamations  of  the 
crowd,  began  dragging  Lamarqiie  in  the  hearse  over 
the  bridge  of  Austerlitz,  and  Lafayette  in  a hack- 
ney coach  along  the  Quai  Morlainl.  In  tlie  crowd 
that  surrounded  and  applauded  Lafayette  people  no- 
ticed and  pointed  out  to  each  other  a German  of  the 
name  of  Ludwig  Snyder,  who  has  since  died  a cen- 
tenarian, who  also  went  through  the  campaign  of 
1/76,  and  had  fought  at  Trenton  under  Wasliington, 
and  under  Lafayette  at  Brandywine. 

The  municipal  cavalry  galloped  along  tlie  left  bank 
to  stop  the  passage  of  the  bridge,  while  on  the  right 
the  dragoons  came  out  of  the  Celestins  and  deployed 
along  the  Quai  Morland.  The  people  who  were 
drawing  Lafayette  suddenly  perceived  them  at  a 
turning  of  the  quay,  and  cried,  “ The  Dragoons  ! ” 
The  troops  advanced  at  a walk,  silently,  with  their 
pistols  in  the  holsters,  sabres  undrawn,  and  musque- 
toons  slung  with  an  air  of  gloomy  expectation.  Two 
hundred  yards  from  the  little  bridge  they  halted,  the 
coach  in  which  was  Lafayette  went  up  to  them,  they 
opened  their  ranks  to  let  it  pass,  and  then  closed  up 
again.  At  this  moment  the  dragoons  and  the  crowd 
came  in  contact,  and  women  fled  in  terror.  What 
took  place  in  this  fatal  minute?  No  one  could  say, 
for  it  is  the  dark  moment  when  two  clouds  clash 
together.  Some  state  that  a bugle-call  sounding  the 
charge  Avas  heard  on  the  side  of  the  Arsenal,  others 
that  a dragoon  was  stabbed  Avith  a knife  by  a lad. 
The  truth  is,  that  three  shots  Avere  suddenly  fired, 
one  killing  Major  Cholet,  the  second  an  old  deaf 


OPPOETUXITY  FOE  A EEVIVAL. 


363 


woman  who  was  closing  her  window  in  the  Rue 
Gontrescarpe,  while  the  third  grazed  an  officer’s 
shoulder.  A woman  cried,  “ They  have  begun  too 
soon ! ” and  all  at  once  on  the  side  opposite  the 
Quai  Morland,  a squadron  of  dragoons,  which  had 
been  left  in  barracks,  was  seen  galloping  up  the 
Rue  Bassompierre  and  the  Boulevard  Bourdon,  with 
naked  swords,  and  sweeping  everything  before  it. 

Now  all  is  said,  the  tempest  is  unchained,  stones 
shower,  the  fusillade  bursts  forth  ; many  rush  to  the 
water’s  edge  and  cross  the  small  arm  of  the  Seine, 
which  is  now  fiUed  up  : the  timber-yards  on  Isle 
Lomders,  that  ready-made  citadel,  bristle  with  com- 
batants, stakes  are  pulled  up,  pistols  are  fired,  a 
barricade  is  commenced,  the  young  men,  driven  back, 
pass  over  the  bridge  of  Austerlitz  with  the  hearse  at 
the  double,  and  charge  the  municipal  guard : the 
carabineers  gallop  up,  the  di’agoons  sabre,  the  crowd 
disperses  in  all  directions,  a rumor  of  war  flies  to  the 
four  corners  of  Paris  : men  cry  “To  arms!”  and  run, 
overthrow,  fly,  and  resist.  Passion  spreads  the  riot 
as  the  wind  does  fire. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


THE  EBULLITIONS  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

Nothing  is  more  extraordinary  thfin  the  com- 
mencement of  a riot,  for  everything  breaks  ont 
everywhere  at  once.  Was  it  foreseen  ? Yes.  Was 
it  prepared  ? No.  Where  does  it  issue  from  ? From 
the  pavement.  Where  does  it  fall  from?  The  clouds. 
At  one  spot  the  insurrection  has  the  character  of  a 
plot,  at  another  of  an  improvisation.  The  first-comer 
grasps  a current  of  the  mob  and  leads  it  whither  he 
pleases.  It  is  a beginning  full  of  horror,  with  which 
a sort  of  formidable  gayety  is  mingled.  First  there  is 
a clamor  ; shops  are  closed,  and  the  goods  disappear 
from  the  tradesmen’s  windows ; then  dropping  shots 
are  heard  ; people  fly ; gateways  are  assailed  with 
the  butts  of  muskets,  and  servant-maids  may  be 
heard  laughing  in  the  yards  of  the  houses  and  say- 
ing, “ There ’s  going  to  be  a row.” 

A quarter  of  an  hour  had  not  elapsed  : this  is 
what  was  going  on  simultaneously  at  twenty  differ- 
ent points  of  Paris.  In  the  Rue  St.  Croix  de  la 
Bretonnerie,  twenty  young  men,  with  beards  and 
long  hair,  entered  a wine-shop  and  came  out  a mo- 
ment after  carrying  a horizontal  tricolor  flag  covered 
with  crape,  and  having  at  their  head  three  men 


THE  EBULLITIONS  OF  OTHER  DAYS.  365 


armed,  one  witli  a sabre,  the  secoud  with  a gun,  , and 
the  third  with  a pike.  In  the  Rue  des  Nonaindibres, 
a well-dressed  bourgeois,  who  had  a large  stomach, 
a sonorous  voice,  bald  head,  lofty  forehead,  black 
beard,  and  one  of  those  I'ough  moustaches  which 
cannot  be  kept  from  bristling,  publicly  offered 
cartridges  to  passers-by.  In  the  Rue  St.  Pierre 
jMontmartre  bare-armed  men  carried  about  a black 
flag,  on  which  were  read  these  words,  in  white 
letters : “ Republic  or  death.”  In  the  Rue  des 
Jehneurs,  Rue  du  Cadran,  Rue  Montorgueil,  and 
Rue  Mandar,  gi’oups  appeared  waving  flags,  on 
which  could  be  distinguished  in  gold  letters  the 
word  “Section,”  udth  a number.  One  of  these  flags 
was  red  and  blue,  Yuth  an  imperceptible  parting  line 
of  white.  A weapon  factory  in  the  Boulevard  St. 
Martin  and  three  gunsmiths’  shops  — the  first  in  the 
Rue  Beaubourg  ; the  second.  Rue  Michel  le  Comte  ; 
and  the  third.  Rue  du  Temple  - — were  pillaged.  In 
a few  minutes  the  thousand  hands  of  the  mob  seized 
and  carried  off  two  hundred  and  thirty  guns  nearly  all 
double-barrelled,  sixty-four  sabres,  and  eighty-three 
pistols.  In  order  to  arm  as  many  persons  as  pos- 
sible, one  took  the  musket,  the  other  the  bayonet. 
Opposite  the  Quai  de  la  Grbve  young  men  armed 
with  muskets  stationed  themselves  in  the  rooms  of 
some  ladies  in  order  to  fire ; one  of  them  had  a 
wheel-lock  gun.  They  rang,  went  in  and  began 
making  cartridges,  and  one  of  the  ladies  said  after- 
wards, “ I did  not  know  what  cartridges  were  till 
my  husband  told  me.”  A crowd  broke  into  a curi- 
osity-shop on  the  Rue  des  Yieilles-Haudriettes,  and 


3G6 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


took  from  it  yataghans  and  Turkish  weapons.  The 
corpse  of  a mason  killed  by  a bullet  lay  in  the  Rue 
de  la  Perle.  And  then,  on  the  right  bank  and  the 
left  bank,  on  the  quays,  on  the  boulevards,  in  the 
Quartier  Latin,  and  on  the  Quartier  of  the  Halles, 
panting  men,  workmen,  students,  and  sectionists 
read  proclamations,  shouted  “ To  arms  ! ” broke  the 
lanterns,  unharnessed  vehicles,  tore  up  the  pavement, 
broke  in  the  doors  of  houses,  uprooted  trees,  searched 
cellars,  rolled  up  barrels,  heaped  up  paving-stones, 
furniture,  and  planks,  and  formed  barricades. 

Citizens  were  forced  to  lend  a hand ; the  rioters 
went  to  the  wives,  compelled  them  to  surrender  the 
sabre  and  musket  of  their  absent  husbands,  and  then 
wrote  on  the  door  in  chalk,  “ The  arms  are  given 
up.”  Some  signed  with  their  own  names  receipts 
for  musket  and  sabre,  and  said,  “ Send  for  them 
to-morrow  at  the  Mayoralty.”  Isolated  sentries  and 
National  Guards  proceeding  to  their  gathering-place 
were  disarmed  in  the  streets.  Epaulettes  were  torn 
from  the  officers,  and  in  the  Rue  du  Cimeti6re  St. 
Nicolas  an  officer  of  the  National  Guard,  pursued 
by  a party  armed  Avith  sticks  and  foils,  found  refugb 
with  great  difficulty  in  a house,  where  he  was  com- 
pelled to  remain  till  night,  and  then  went  away  in 
disguise.  In  the  Quartier  St.  Jacques  the  students 
came  out  of  their  lodging-houses  in  swarms,  and 
went  up  the  Rue  Sainte  Hyacinthe  to  the  Caffi  du 
Progrfes,  or  down  to  the  Caffi  des  Sept  Billards  in 
the  Rue  des  Mathurins  ; there  the  young  men  stood 
on  benches  and  distributed  arms ; and  the  timber- 
yard  in  the  Rue  Transnonain  was  pillaged  to  make 


THE  EBULLITIONS  OF  OTHER  DAIS. 


367 


barricades.  Only  at  one  spot  did  the  inhabitants  offer 
resistance,  — at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Sainte  Avoye 
and  Simon  le  Franc,  where  they  themselves  destroyed 
the  barricade.  Only  at  one  point  too  did  the  insur- 
gents give  way ; they  abandoned  a barricade  begun 
in  the  Rne  dn  Temple,  after  firing  at  a detachment 
of  the  National  Gnard,  and  fled  along  the  Rue  de 
la  Corderie.  The  detachment  picked  up  on  the  bar- 
ricade a red  flag,  a packet  of  cartridges,  and  three 
hundred  pistol  bullets  ; the  National  Guards  tore  up 
the  flag,  and  carried  off  the  strips  on  the  point  of 
their  bayonets.  All  this  which  we  are  describing 
here  slowly  and  successively  was  going  on  simul- 
taneously at  all  parts  of  the  city,  in  the  midst  of 
a vast  tumidt,  like  a number  of  lightning  flashes  in 
a single  peal  of  thunder. 

In  less  than  an  hour  twenty-seven  barricades  issued 
from  the  ground  in  the  single  quarter  of  the  Halles  ; 
in  the  centre  was  that  famous  house  No.  50,  which 
was  the  fortress  of  Jeanne  and  her  hnndred-and-sis 
companions,  and  which,  flanked  on  one  side  by  a 
barricade  at  St.  Merry,  and  on  the  other  by  a bar- 
ricade in  the  Rue  Maubuee,  commanded  the  three 
streets,  Des  Arcis,  St.  Martin,  and  Aubry  le  Boucher, 
the  last  of  which  it  faced.  Two  square  barricades 
retreated,  the  one  from  the  Rue  IMontorgueil  into  la 
Grande  Truanderie,  the  other  from  the  Rne  Geoffrey 
Lange\’in  into  the  Rue  Sainte  Avoye.  This  is  with- 
out counting  innumerable  barricades  in  twenty  other 
districts  of  Paris,  as  the  Marais  and  the  Montague 
Sainte  GeneGfeve  ; one  in  the  Rue  M4nilmontant, 
in  which  a gate  could  be  seen  torn  off  its  hinges ; 


368 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


and  another  near  the  little  bridge  of  the  H6tel  Dieu, 
made  of  an  overthi'own  vehicle.  Three  hundred 
yards  from  the  Prefecture  of  Police,  at  the  barricade 
in  the  Rue  des  Menetriers,  a well-dressed  man  dis- 
tributed money  to  the  artisans ; at  the  barricade  in 
the  Rue  Grenetat  a horseman  rode  up  and  handed 
to  the  man  who  seemed  to  be  the  chief  of  the  bar- 
ricade a roll,  which  looked  like  money.  “ Here,"’ 
he  said,  “ is  something  to  pay  the  expenses,  — the 
wine,  etc.”  A light-haired  young  man,  without  a 
cravat,  went  from  one  barricade  to  another,  carrying 
the  passwords ; and  another,  with  drawn  sabre  and 
a blue  forage-cap  on  his  head,  stationed  sentries. 
In  the  interior,  within  the  barricades,  the  wine-shops 
and  cabarets  were  converted  into  guard-rooms,  and 
the  riot  was  managed  in  accordance  with  the  most 
skilful  military  tactics.  The  narrow,  uneven,  winding 
streets,  full  of  corners  and  turnings,  were  admirably 
selected,  — the  vicinity  of  the  Halles  more  especially, 
a network  of  streets  more  tangled  than  a forest. 
The  society  of  the  Friends  of  the  People  had,  it  was 
said,  taken  the  direction  of  the  insurrection  in  the 
Sainte  Avoye  district,  and  a plan  of  Paris  was  found 
on  the  body  of  a man  killed  in  the  Rue  du  Ponceau. 

What  had  really  assumed  the  direction  of  the  in- 
surrection was  a sort  of  unknown  impetuosity  that 
was  in  the  atmosphere.  The  insurrection  had  sud- 
denly built  barricades  with  one  hand,  and  with  the 
other  seized  nearly  all  the  garrison  posts.  In  less 
than  three  hours  the  insurgents,  like  a powder-train 
fired,  had  seized  and  occupied  on  the  right  bank  the 
Arsenal,  the  Mayoralty  of  the  Place  Royale,  all  the 


THE  EBULLITIONS  OF  OTHER  DAYS.  369 


Marais,  the  Popiucourt  arms-factory,  the  Galiote, 
the  Chateau  cVEau,  and  all  the  streets  near  the 
Halles ; on  the  left  bank  the  Veterans’  barracks, 
Sainte  Pelagic,  the  Place  IMaubert,  the  powder  man- 
ufactory of  the  Deux  IMoulins,  and  all  the  barribres. 
At  five  in  the  evening  they  were  masters  of  the  Bas- 
tille, the  Lingerie,  and  the  Blancs-lManteaux  ; while 
their  scouts  were  close  to  the  Place  des  Yictoires 
and  menaced  the  Bank,  the  barracks  of  the  Petits- 
P5res  and  the  Post-office.  One  third  of  Paris  was 
in  the  hands  of  the  revolt.  On  all  points  the 
struggle  had  begun  on  a gigantic  scale,  and  the 
result  of  the  disarmaments,  the  domiciliary  \isits, 
and  the  attack  on  the  gunsmiths’  shops,  was  that 
the  fight  which  had  begun  with  stone-throAving  was 

o o o 

continued  with  musket-shots. 

About  six  in  the  evening  the  Passage  du  Saumon 
became  the  battle-field  ; the  rioters  Avere  at  one  end 
and  the  troops  at  the  other,  and  they  fired  from  one 
gate  at  the  other.  An  obseiwer,  a dreamer,  the 
author  of  this  book,  who  had  gone  to  have  a near 
look  at  the  A'olcano,  found  himself  caught  betAveen 
tAA’o  fires  in  the  passage,  and  had  nothing  to  protect 
him  from  the  bullets  but  the  projecting  semi-columns 
which  used  to  separate  the  shops ; he  Avas  nearly 
half  an  hour  in  this  delicate  position.  In  the  mean 
AA'hile  the  tattoo  was  beaten,  the  National  Guards 
hurriedly  dressed  and  armed  themseDes,  the  legions 
issued  from  the  Mayoralty,  and  the  regiments  from 
the  barracks.  Opposite  the  Passage  de  I’Ancre  a 
drummer  was  stabbed  ; another  aaas  attacked  in  the 
Rue  du  Cygne  by  thirty  young  men,  Avho  ripped  ujj 

VOL.  IV.  24 


370 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


liis  drum  and  took  his  sabre,  wliile  a third  was  killed 
in  the  Rue  Grenier  St.  Lazare.  In  the  Rue  Michel 
le  Comte  three  offieers  fell  dead  one  after  the  other, 
and  several  munieipal  guards,  wounded  in  the  Rue 
des  Lombards,  recoiled.  In  front  of  the  Cour  Ba- 
tave,  a detachment  of  National  Guards  found  a red 
flag,  bearing  this  inscription,  “ Republican  Revolu- 
tion, No.  127.”  Was  it  really  a revolution?  The 
insurrection  had  made  of  the  heart  of  Paris  a sort 
of  inextricable,  tortuous,  and  colossal  citadel ; there 
was  the  nucleus,  thei’e  the  question  would  be  solved  ; 
all  the  rest  was  merely  skirmishing.  The  proof  that 
all  would  be  decided  there  lay  in  the  fact  that  fight- 
ing had  not  yet  begun  there. 

In  some  regiments  the  troops  were  uncertain, 
which  added  to  the  startling  obscurity  of  the  crisis  ; 
and  they  remembered  the  popular  ovation  which,  in 
July,  1830,  greeted  the  neutrality  of  the  53d  line. 
Two  intrepid  men,  tried  by  the  great  wars.  Marshal 
de  Lobau  and  General  Bugeaud,  commanded,  — 
Bugeaud  under  Lobau.  Enormous  patrols,  com- 
posed of  battalions  of  the  line  enclosed  in  entire 
companies  of  the  National  Guard,  and  preceded  by 
the  Police  Commissary  in  his  scarf,  went  to  recon- 
noitre the  insurgent  streets.  On  their  side,  the  in- 
surgents posted  vedettes  at  the  corner  of  the  streets, 
and  audaciously  sent  patrols  beyond  the  barricades. 
Both  sides  were  observing  each  other ; the  Govern- 
ment, with  an  army  in  its  hand,  hesitated,  night  U’as 
setting  in,  and  the  tocsin  of  St.  jMai^  was  beginning 
to  be  heard.  Mai-shal  Soult,  the  Minister  of  War  at 
that  day,  who  had  seen  Austerlitz,  looked  at  all  this 


THE  EBULLITIONS  OF  OTHER  DAYS.  H/l 


with  a gloomy  air.  These  old  sailors,  habituated  to 
correct  manoeinTes,  and  ha^dng  no  other  resource 
and  guide  but  tactics,  the  compass  of  battles,  are 
completely  thrown  out  when  in  the  presence  of  that 
immense  foam  which  is  called  the  public  anger. 
The  wind  of  revolutions  is  not  favorable  for  sailing. 
The  National  Guards  of  the  suburbs  ran  up  hastily 
and  disorderly ; a battalion  of  the  1 2th  Light  Infan- 
try came  at  the  double  from  St.  Denis  ; the  14th 
line  arrived  from  Courbevoie,  the  batteries  of  the 
military  school  had  taken  up  position  at  the  Carrou- 
sel, and  guns  were  brought  in  from  Vincennes. 

Solitude  set  in  at  the  Tuileries.  Louis  Philippe 
was  full  of  serenity. 


I 


CHAPTER  V. 


OKIGINALITY  OF  PARIS. 

During  the  two  past  years  Paris,  as  we  said,  had 
seen  more  than  one  insurrection.  With  the  excep- 
tion of  the  insurgent  districts,  as  a rule,  nothing  is 
more  strangely  calm  than  the  physiognomy  of  Paris 
during  a riot.  Paris  very  soon  grows  accustomed  to 
everything  — it  is  only  a riot ; and  Paris  has  so 
much  to  do  that  it  does  not  put  itself  out  of  the 
way  for  such  a trifle.  These  colossal  cities  alone  can 
offer  such  spectacles.  These  immense  enclosures 
alone  can  contain  simultaneously  civil  war  and  a 
strange  tranquillity.  Usually,  when  the  insurrection 
begins,  when  the  drum,  the  tattoo,  and  the  assembly 
are  heard,  the  shopkeeper  confines  himself  to  saying  : 

“Ah,  there  seems  to  be  a row  in  the  Rue  St. 
Martin.” 

Or,  — 

“ The  Faubourg  St.  Antoine.” 

And  he  often  adds,  negligently,  — 

“ Somewhere  over  that  way.” 

At  a later  date,  when  the  heart-rending  and  mourn- 
ful sound  of  musketry  and  platoon  fire  can  be  distin- 
guished, the  shopkeeper  says,  — 

“ Bless  me,  it  is  growing  hot ! ” 


ORIGINALITY  OF  PARIS. 


373 


A moment  later,  if  the  riot  approaches  and  spreads, 
lie  precipitately  closes  his  shop  and  puts  on  his  uni- 
form ; that  is  to  say,  places  his  wares  in  safety,  and 
risks  his  person.  Men  shoot  themselves  on  a square, 
in  a passage,  or  a blind  alley ; barricades  are  taken, 
lost,  and  retaken,  blood  flows,  the  grape-shot  pock- 
mark the  fronts  of  the  houses,  bullets  kill  people  in 
their  beds,  and  corpses  encumber  the  pavement.  A 
few  yards  off  you  hear  the  click  of  the  billiard-balls 
in  the  coffee-houses.  The  theatres  open  their  doors 
and  play  farces  ; and  gossips  talk  and  laugh  two 
yards  from  these  streets  full  of  war.  Hackney 
coaches  roll  along,  and  their  fares  are  going  to  dine 
out,  sometimes  in  tjie  very  district  where  the  fights 
ing  is.  In  1831  a fusillade  was  interrupted  in  order 
to  let  a wedding  pass.  During  the  insurrection  of 
May  12,  1839,  in  the  Rue  St.  Martin,  a little  old  in- 
firm man,  dragging  a hand-truck  surmounted  by  a 
tricolor  rag,  and  carrying  bottles  full  of  some  fluid, 
came  and  went  from  the  barricade  to  the  troops,  and 
from  the  troops  to  the  barricade,  impartially  offering 
glasses  of  cocoa,  first  to  the  Government  and  then  to 
anarchy.  Nothing  can  be  stranger ; and  this  is  the 
peculiar  character  of  Parisian  riots,  which  is  not  found 
in  any  other  capital,  as  two  things  are  required  for 
it,  — the  grandeur  of  Paris  and  its  gayety,  the  city  of 
Voltaire  and  of  Napoleon.  This  time,  however,  in 
the  insurrection  of  June  5,  1832,  the  great  city  felt 
something  which  was  perhaps  stronger  than  itself, 
and  was  frightened.  Everywhere,  in  the  most  remote 
and  disinterested  districts,  doors,  windows,  and  shut- 
ters were  closed  in  broad  daylight.  The  courageous 


3/4 


THE  KUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


armed,  the  cowardly  hid  themselves,  and  the  careless 
and  busy  passengers  disappeared.  Many  streets  were 
as  empty  as  at  four  iu  the  morning.  Alarming  de- 
tails were  hawked  about,  and  fatal  news  spread,  — 
that  they  were  masters  of  the  Bank ; that  at  the 
cloisters  of  St.  Meri-y  alone  they  were  six  hundred, 
intrenched  with  looplioles  in  a church ; that  the  line 
was  not  sure  ; that  Armand  Carrel  had  been  to  see 
Marshal  Clausel,  and  the  latter  said  to  him,  “ Have  a 
regiment  first ; ” that  Lafayette,  though  ill,  had  said 
to  them,  “ I am  with  you,  and  will  follow  you  where- 
ever  tliere  is  room  for  a chaii**;  ” that  people  must  be 
on  their  guard,  for  at  night  burglars  would  plunder 
isolated  houses  in  the  deserted  corners  of  Paris  (in 
this  could  be  recognized  the  imagination  of  the  po- 
lice, that  Anne  Radcliffe  blended  with  government) ; 
that  a battery  had  been  established  in  the  Rue  Aubry- 
le-Boucher ; that  Lobau  and  Bugeaud  were  agreed, 
and  that  at  midnight,  or  at  daybreak  at  the  latest, 
four  columns  would  march  together  on  the  centre  of  the 
revolt,  the  first  coming  from  the  Bastille,  the  second 
from  the  Porte  St.  Martin,  the  third  from  the  Grbve, 
and  the  fourth  from  the  Halles  ; that  perhaps,  too,  the 
troops  would  evacuate  Paris,  and  retire  on  tlie  Champ 
de  Mars  ; that  no  one  knew  what  would  happen, 
but  this  time  it  was  certainly  very  serious.  People 
were  alarmed  too  by  the  hesitation  of  Marshal  Soult ; 
why  did  he  not  attack  at  once  ? It  is  certain  that  he 
was  greatly  absorbed,  and  the  old  lion  seemed  to 
scent  an  unknown  monster  in  the  darkness. 

Night  came,  and  the  theatres  were  not  opened,  the 
patrols  went  their  rounds  with  an  air  of  irritation, 


ORIGINALITY  OF  PARIS. 


375 


passers-by  were  searched,  and  suspected  persons 
arrested.  At  nine  o’clock  there  were  more  than 
eight  hundred  persons  taken  up,  and  the  Prefecture 
of  Police,  the  Conciergerie,  and  La  Force  were 
crowded.  At  the  Conciergerie,  especially,  the  long 
vault  called  the  Rue  de  Paris  was  strewn  with 
trusses  of  straw,  on  which  lay  a pile  of  prisoners, 
whom  Lagrange,  the  man  of  Lyons,  valiantly  ha- 
rangued. All  this  straw,  moved  by  all  these  men, 
produced  the  sound  of  a shower.  Elsewhere  the 
])risoners  slept  in  the  open  air  on  lawns ; there  was 
anxiety  everywhere,  and  a certain  trembling,  not  at 
all  usual  to  Paris.  People  barricaded  themselves  in 
the  houses  ; wives  and  mothers  were  alarmed,  and 
nothing  else  but  this  was  heard,  “ Oh  heavens  ! he 
has  not  come  in  ! ” Only  the  rolling  of  a few  vehicles 
could  be  heard  in  the  distance,  and  people  listened  in 
the  doorways  to  the  noises,  cries,  tumults,  and  dull, 
indistinct  sounds,  of  which  they  said,  “ That  is  the 
cavalry,”  or,  “ It  is  the  galloping  of  tumbrils  ; ” to  the 
bugles,  the  drums,  the  firing,  and  before  all  to  the 
lamentable  tocsin  of  St.  hlerry.  They  waited  for 
the  first  artillery  round,  and  men  rose  at  the  corner 
of  the  streets  and  disappeared,  after  shouting,  “ Go 
in.”  And  they  hastened  to  bolt  their  doors,  saying, 
“ How  mil  it  all  end?  ” From  moment  to  moment, 
as  the  night  became  darker,  Paris  seemed  to  be  more 
lugubriously  colored  by  the  formidable  flashes  of  the 
revolt. 


BOOK  XL 


THE  ATOM  FRATERNIZES  WITH  THE 
HURRICANE. 


CHAPTER  1. 

THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  POETRY  OP  GAVROCHE  AND 

THE  INFLUENCE  OF  AN  ACADEMICIAN  UPON  IT. 

At  the  moment  when  the  insurrection,  breaking 
out  through  the  collision  between  the  people  and  the 
troops  in  front  of  the  Arsenal,  produced  a retrograde 
movement  in  the  multitude  that  followed  the  hearse, 
and  which  pressed  with  the  whole  length  of  the  bou- 
levards upon  the  head  of  the  procession,  there  was 
a frightful  reflux.  The  ranks  were  broken,  and  all  ran 
or  escaped,  some  with  cries  of  attack,  others  with  the 
pallor  of  flight.  The  great  stream  which  covered 
the  boulevards  divided  in  a second,  overflowed  on 
the  right  and  left,  and  spread  in  torrents  over  two 
hundred  streets  at  once,  as  if  a dyke  had  burst.  At 
this  moment  a ragged  lad  who  was  coming  down  the 
Rue  Menilmontant,  holding  in  his  hand  a branch  of 
flowering  laburnum  which  he  had  picked  ou  the 
heights  of  Belleville,  noticed  in  the  shop  of  a dealer 
in  bric-h-brac  an  old  hostler  pistol.  He  threw  his 
branch  on  the  pavement,  and  cried,  — 


ORIGIN  OF  THE  POETRY  OF  GAVROCHE.  3/7 

“ Mother  What  ’s-your-name,  I’ll  borrow  your 
machiue.” 

And  he  ran  off  with  the  pistol.  Two  minutes 
after,  a crowd  of  frightened  cits,  flying  through  the 
Rue  Amelot  and  the  Rue  Basse,  met  the  lad,  who 
was  brandishing  his  pistol  and  singing, — 

“ La  nuit  ou  ne  voit  rien, 

Le  jour  on  voit  tres  bieu, 

D’un  ecrit  apocryphe 
Le  bourgeois  s’ebouriffe, 

Pratiquez  la  vertu, 

Tutu,  chapeau  pointu  ! ” 

It  was  little  Gavroche  going  to  the  wars  ; on  the 
boulevard  he  noticed  that  his  pistol  had  no  hammer. 
Who  was  the  composer  of  this  couplet  which  served 
to  punctuate  his  march,  and  all  the  other  songs 
whicli  he  was  fond  of  singing  when  he  had  a chance  ? 
Who  knows  ? Himself,  perhaps.  Besides,  Gavroche 
was  acquainted  with  all  the  popular  tuues  in  circu- 
lation, and  mingled  tvith  them  his  own  chirping,  and, 
as  a young  vagabond,  he  made  a pot-pourri  of  the 
voices  of  nature  and  the  voices  of  Paris.  He  com- 
bined the  repertoire  of  the  birds  with  that  of  the 
studios,  and  he  was  acquainted  with  artists’  students, 
a tribe  contiguous  to  his  own.  He  had  been  for 
three  months,  it  appears,  apprenticed  to  a painter, 
and  had  one  day  delivered  a message  for  M.  Baour 
Lormian,  one  of  the  Forty ; Gavroche  was  a gamin 
of  letters. 

Gavroche  did  not  suspect,  by  the  way,  that  ou  that 
wretched  rainy  night,  when  he  offered  the  hospitality 
of  his  elephant  to  the  two  boys,  he  was  performing 


378 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


the  offices  of  Providence  to  his  two  brothers.  His 
brothers  in  the  evening,  his  father  in  the  morning, 
— such  had  been  his  night.  On  lea\dng  the  Rue  des 
Ballets  at  dawn,  he  hurried  back  to  the  elephant, 
artistically  extracted  the  two  boys,  shared  with  them 
the  sort  of  breakfast  which  he  had  invented,  and 
then  went  away,  confiding  them  to  that  good  mother, 
the  street,  who  had  almost  brought  himself  up.  On 
leaving  them  he  appointed  to  meet  them  on  the  same 
spot  at  night,  and  left  them  this  speech  as  farewell,  — 
“ I am  going  to  cut  my  stick,  otherwise  to  say,  I in- 
tend to  bolt,  or  as  they  say  at  court,  I shall  make 
myself  scarce.  My  brats,  if  you  do  not  find  papa 
and  mamma,  come  here  again  to-night.  I will  give 
you  your  supper  and  put  you  to  bed.”  The  two 
lads,  picked  up  by  some  policeman  and  placed  at  the 
station,  or  stolen  by  some  mountebank,  or  simply  lost 
in  that  Chinese  puzzle,  Paris,  did  not  return.  The 
substrata  of  the  existing  social  world  are  full  of  such 
lost  traces.  Gavroche  had  not  seen  them  again, 
and  ten  or  twelve  weeks  had  elapsed  since  that 
night.  ]\lore  than  once  he  had  scratched  his  head 
and  asked  himself,  “ Where  the  deuce  are  my  two 
children  ? ” 

He  reached  the  Rue  du  Pont  aux  Choux,  and  no- 
ticed that  there  was  only  one  shop  still  open  in  that 
street,  and  it  was  worthy  of  reflection  that  it  was  a 
confectioner’s.  It  was  a providential  opportunity  to 
eat  one  more  apple-puff  before  entering  the  unknown. 
Gavroche  stopped,  felt  in  his  pockets,  turned  them 
inside  out,  found  nothing,  not  even  a sou,  and  began 
shouting,  “ Help ! ” It  is  hard  to  go  without  the 


OKIGIN  OF  THE  POETRY  OF  GAVROCHE.  3/9 

last  cake,  but  for  all  that  Gavroche  went  on  his  way. 
Two  minutes  after  he  was  in  the  Rue  St.  Louis,  and 
on  crossing  the  Rue  du  Parc  Royal  he  felt  the  neces- 
sity of  compensating  himself  for  the  impossible  apple- 
puff,  and  gave  himself  the  immense  treat  of  tearing 
do^vn  in  open  daylight  the  play-bills.  A little  far- 
ther on,  seeing  a party  of  stout  gentry  who  appeared 
to  him  to  be  retired  from  business,  he  shrugged  his 
shoulders  and  spat  out  this  mouthful  of  philosophic 
bile,  — 

“ How  fat  annuitants  are ! they  wallow  in  good 
dinners.  Ask  them  what  they  do  with  their  money, 
and  they  don’t  know.  They  eat  it,  eat  their  belly- 


CHAPTER  II. 


GAVROCHE  ON  THE  MARCH. 

Holding  a pistol  without  a cock  in  the  streets  is 
such  a public  function,  that  Gavroche  felt  his  humor 
increase  at  every  step.  He  cried  between  the  scraps 
of  the  jMarseillaise  whicli  he  saug,  — 

“ All  goes  well.  I suffer  considerably  in  my  left 
paw.  I have  broken  my  rheumatism,  but  I am 
happy,  citizens.  The  bourgeois  have  only  to  hold 
firm,  and  I am  going  to  sing  them  some  subversive 
couplets.  What  are  the  police  ? Dogs.  Holy  Moses ! 
we  must  not  lack  respect  for  the  dogs.  Besides,  I 
should  be  quite  willing  to  have  one  ^ for  my  pistol. 
I have  just  come  from  the  boulevard,  my  friends, 
Avhere  it ’s  getting  warm,  and  the  soup  is  simmering ; 
it  is  time  to  skim  the  pot.  Forward,  my  men,  and  let 
an  impure  blood  inundate  the  furrows ! I give  my 
days  for  my  country.  I shall  not  see  my  concnbine 
again ; it ’s  all  over.  Well,  no  matter ! Long  live 
joy  ! Let  us  fight,  crebleu ! I have  had  enough  of 
despotism ! ” 

At  this  moment  the  hoi’se  of  a lancer  in  the 
National  Guard,  who  was  passing,  fell.  Gavroche 
laid  his  pistol  on  the  pavement,  helped  the  man  up, 

^ The  hammer  of  a pistol  is  called  a dog  in  France. 


GAVROCHE  ON  THE  MARCH. 


381 


and  then  helped  to  raise  the  horse,  after  which  he 
picked  up  his  pistol  and  went  his  way  again.  In  the 
Rue  de  Thorigny  all  was  peace  and  silence ; and  this 
apathy,  peculiar  to  the  Marais,  contrasted  with  the 
vast  surrounding  turmoil.  Four  gossips  were  con- 
versing on  the  step  of  a door;  Scotland  has  trios  of 
Avitches,  but  Paris  has  quartettes  of  gossips,  and  the 
“ Thou  shalt  be  king  ” would  be  as  lugubriously  cast  at 
Bonaparte  at  the  Baudoyer  crossway,  as  to  Macbeth 
on  the  Highland  heath,  — it  would  be  much  the  same 
croak.  The  gossips  in  the  Rue  Thorigny  only  troubled 
themselves  about  their  own  affairs  ; they  were  three 
portresses,  and  a rag-picker  with  her  dorser  and  her 
hook.  They  seemed  to  be  standing  all  four  at  the 
four  comers  of  old  age,  which  are  decay,  decrepitude, 
ruin,  and  sorrow.  The  rag-picker  was  humble,  for 
in  this  open-air  world  the  rag-picker  bows,  and  the 
portress  protects.  The  things  thrown  into  the  street 
are  fat  and  lean,  according  to  the  fancy  of  the  person 
who  makes  the  pile,  and  there  may  be  kindness  in 
the  broom.  This  rag-picker  Avas  grateful,  and  she 
smiled,  — Avhat  a smile  ! — at  the  three  portresses. 
They  Avere  making  remarks  like  the  folloAAung,  — 

“ So  your  cat  is  as  ill-tempered  as  eA^er  ? ” 

“ Well,  good  gracious ! you  know  that  cats  are 
naturally  the  enemy  of  dogs.  It ’s  the  dogs  that 
complain.” 

“ And  people  too.” 

“ And  yet  cats’  fleas  do  not  run  after  people.” 

“ Dogs  are  really  dangerous.  I remember  one  year 
Avhen  there  were  so  many  dogs  that  they  Avere  obliged 
to  put  it  in  the  papers.  It  was  at  that  time  Avhen 


382 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


there  were  large  sheep  at  the  Tuileries  to  drag  the 
little  carriage  of  the  King  of  Rome.  Do  you  re- 
member the  King  of  Rome  ? ” 

“ I preferred  the  Due  de  Bordeaux.” 

“Well,  I know  Louis  XVII.,  and  I prefer  him.” 

“ How  dear  meat  is,  Marne  Patagon  ! ” 

“ Oh,  don’t  talk  about  it ! Butcher’s  meat  is  a 
horror,  — a horrible  horror.  It  is  only  possible  to 
buy  bones  now.” 

Here  the  rag-picker  interposed, — * 

“ Ladies,  trade  does  not  go  on  well  at  all,  and  the 
rubbish  is  abominable.  People  do  not  throw  aAvay 
anything  now,  but  eat  it  all.” 

“ There  are  poorer  folk  than  you,  Vargouleme.” 

“ Ah,  that ’s  true,”  the  rag-picker  replied  deferen- 
tially, “ for  I have  a profession.” 

There  was  a pause,  and  the  rag-picker,  yielding  to 
that  need  of  display  which  is  at  the  bottom  of  the 
human  heart,  added,  — 

“ When  I go  home  in  the  morning  I empty  out  my 
basket  and  sort  the  articles  ; that  makes  piles  in  my 
room.  I put  the  rags  in  a box,  the  cabbage-stalks  in 
a tub,  the  pieces  of  linen  in  my  cupboard,  the  wool- 
len rags  in  my  chest  of  drawers,  old  papers  on  the 
corner  of  the  window,  things  good  to  eat  in  ray  por- 
ringer, pieces  of  glass  in  the  fire-place,  old  shoes 
behind  the  door,  and  bones  under  my  bed.” 

Gavroche  had  stopped,  and  was  listening. 

“ Aged  dames,”  he  said,  “ what  right  have  you  to 
talk  politics  ? ” 

A broadside,  composed  of  a quadruple  yell,  as- 
sailed him. 


GAVKOCHE  ON  THE  MARCH. 


383 


“ There ’s  another  of  the  villains.” 

“ ^Yhat ’s  that  he  has  in  his  hand,  — a pistol  ? ” 

“ Just  think,  that  rogue  of  a boy  ! ” 

“ They  are  never  quiet  unless  when  they  are  over- 
throwing the  authorities.” 

Ga^Toche  disdainfully  limited  - his  reprisals  to  lift- 
ing the  tip  of  his  nose  with  his  thumb,  and  open- 
ing his  hand  to  the  full  extent.  The  rag-picker 
exclaimed,  — 

“ The  barefooted  scamp  ! ” 

The  one  who  answered  to  the  name  of  iNIame 
Patagon  struck  her  hands  together  with  scandal. 

“ There  are  going  to  be  misfortunes,  that ’s  sure. 
The  young  fellow  with  the  beard  round  the  corner, 
I used  to  see  him  pass  every  morning  with  a girl 
in  a pink  bonnet  on  his  arm  ; but  this  morning  I saw 
him  pass,  and  he  was  givdng  his  arm  to  a gun.  Marne 
Bacheux  says  there  was  a revolution  last  week  at, 
at,  at,  at,  — where  do  the  calves  come  from  ? — 
at  Pontoise.  And  then,  just  look  at  this  atrocious 
young  \’illain’s  pistol.  It  seems  that  the  Celestins 
are  full  of  cannon.  What  would  you  have  the  Govern- 
ment do  with  these  vagabonds  who  can  only  invent 
ways  to  upset  the  world,  after  we  were  beginning 
to  get  over  all  the  misfortunes  which  fell  — good 
gracious  ! — on  that  poor  Queen  whom  I saw  pass 
in  a cart ! And  all  this  will  raise  the  price  of  snuff. 
It  is  infamous,  and  I will  certainly  go  and  see  you 
guillotined,  malefactor.” 

“ You  snuffle,  my  aged  friend,”  said  Gavroche ; 
“ blow  your  promontory.” 

And  he  passed  on.  When  he  was  in  the  Rue 


384 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


Pavee  liis  thoughts  reverted  to  the  rag-picker,  and 
he  had  this  soliloquy,  — 

“ You  are  wrong  to  insult  the  revol  ationists. 
Mother  Cornerpost.  This  pistol  is  on  your  behalf, 
and  it  is  for  you  to  have  in  your  baskets  more  things 
good  to  eat.” 

All  at  once  he  heard  a noise  behind  ; it  was  the 
portress  Patagon,  who  had  followed  him,  and  now 
shook  her  fist  at  him,  crying,  — 

“ You  are  nothing  but  a bastard.” 

“ At  that  I scoff  with  all  my  heart,”  said  Gavroche. 

A little  later  he  passed  the  Hotel  Lamoignon, 
where  he  burst  into  this  appeal,  — 

“ Go  on  to  the  battle.” 

And  he  was  attacked  by  a fit  of  melancholy  ; he 
regarded  his  pistol  reproachfully,  and  said  to  it,  — 

“ I am  going  off,  but  you  will  not  go  off.” 

One  dog  may  distract  another ; ^ a very  thin  whelp 
passed,  and  Ga^Toehe  felt  pity  for  it. 

“ My  poor  little  creature,”  he  said  to  it,  “ you 
must  have  swallowed  a barrel,  as  you  show  all  the 
hoops.” 

Then  he  proceeded  toward  the  Orrae  St.  Gervais. 

^ Another  allusion  to  the  hammer  (chien)  of  the  pistol. 


CHAPTER  III. 


JUST  IXDIGXATION  OF  A BARBER. 

The  worthy  barber  who  had  turned  out  the  two 
children  for  whom  Ga^Toche  had  opened  the  elephant’s 
paternal  intestines,  was  at  this  moment  in  his  shop,  en- 
gaged in  shaving  an  old  legionary  who  had  served 
under  the  Empire.  The  barber  had  naturally  spoken 
to  the  veteran  about  the  riot,  then  about  General 
Lamarque,  and  from  Lamarque  they  had  come  to  the 
Emperor.  Hence  arose  a conversation  between  the 
barber  and  the  soldier  which  Prudhomme,  had  he  been 
present,  would  have  enriched  with  arabesques,  and 
entitled,  “ A dialogue  between  a razor  and  a sabre.” 

“ How  did  the  Emperor  ride,  sir  ? ” the  barber 
asked. 

“ Badly.  He  did  not  know  how  to  fall  off,  and 
so  he  never  fell  off.” 

“ Had  he  fine  horses  ? He  must  have  had  fine 
horses  ! ” 

“ On  the  day  when  he  gave  me  the  cross  I noticed 
his  beast.  It  was  a white  mare.  It  had  its  ears 
very  far  apart,  a deep  saddle,  a fine  head  marked 
with  a black  star,  a very  long  neck,  prominent  knees, 
projecting  flanks,  oblique  shoulders,  and  a strong- 
crupper.  It  was  a little  above  fifteen  hands  high.” 

VOL.  IV.  25 


386 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


“ A fine  horse,”  said  the  barber. 

“ It  was  His  Majesty’s  beast.” 

The  barber  felt  that  after  this  remark  a little 
silence  was  befitting ; then  he  went  on,  — 

“ The  Emperor  was  wounded  only  once,  I believe, 
sir  ? ” 

The  old  soldier  replied,  with  the  calm  and  sovereign 
accent  of  the  man  who  has  felt  wounds,  — 

“ In  the  heel,  at  Ratisbou,  I never  saw  him  so 
well  dressed  as  on  that  day.  He  was  as  clean  as 
a half2)enny.” 

“ And  you,  sir,  I sujipose,  have  received  sword- 
wounds  ? ” 

“ I,”  said  the  soldier ; “ oh,  a mere  flea-bite.  I 
received  two  sabre-cuts  on  my  neck  at  Marengo ; 
I got  a bullet  in  my  right  arm  at  Jena,  another  in 
the  left  hip  at  Jena  ; at  Friedland  a bayonet-thrust,  — 
there;  at  the  Muskowa  seven  or  eight  lance-jirods, 
never  mind  where  ; at  Liitzen,  a piece  of  shell  carried 
off  a finger,  and  — oh,  yes!  at  Waterloo  a bullet 
from  a case-shot  in  my  thigh.  That ’s  all.” 

“ How  glorious  it  is,”  the  barber  exclaimed,  with 
a Pindaric  accent,  “ to  die  on  the  battle-field  ! On 
my  word  of  honor,  sooner  than  die  on  a bed  of  dis- 
ease, slowly,  a bit  every  day,  with  drugs,  cataplasms, 
clysters,  and  medicine,  I would  sooner  have  a cannon- 
ball in  my  stomach  ! ” 

“ And  you  ’re  right,”  said  the  soldier.  He  had 
scarce  ended  ere  a fiightful  noise  shook  the  shop  ; 
a great  pane  of  glass  was  suddenly  smashed,  and  the 
barber  turned  livid. 

“ Good  Lord  ! ” he  cried,  “ it  is  one.” 


JUST  INDIGNATION  OF  A BARBEE.  387 

“ What  ? ” 

“ A cannon-ball.” 

“ Here  it  is.” 

And  he  picked  up  something  which  was  rolling 
on  the  ground ; it  was  a pebble.  The  barber  ran 
to  his  broken  pane,  and  saw  Gavroche  flying  at  full 
speed  towards  the  March4  St.  Jean.  On  passing 
the  barber’s  shop  Gavroche,  who  had  the  two  lads 
at  his  heart,  could  not  resist  the  desire  of  wishing 
him  good-evening,  and  threw  a stone  through  his 
^vindow. 

“ Just  look,”  the  barber  yelled,  who  had  become 
blue  instead  of  livid,  “ he  does  harm  for  harm’s  sake. 
What  had  I done  to  that  \nllain  ? ” 


CHAPTER  IV. 


THE  CHILD  ASTONISHES  THE  OLD  MAN. 

On  reaching  St.  Jean  market,  the  post  at  which 
had  been  disarmed  already,  Gavroche  proceeded  “ to 
effect  his  junction  ” with  a band  led  by  Enjolras, 
Courfeyrac,  Combeferre,  and  Feuilly.  They  were  all 
more  or  less  armed,  and  Bahorel  and  Prouvaire  had 
joined  them,  and  swelled  the  group.  Enjolras  had  a 
double-barrelled  fowling-piece,  Combeferre  a National 
Guard’s  musket  bearing  the  number  of  a legion,  and 
in  his  waist-belt  two  pistols,  which  his  unbuttoned 
coat  allowed  to  be  seen ; Jean  Prouvaire  an  old  cav- 
alry carbine,  and  Bahorel  a rifle  ; Courfeyrac  bran- 
dished a sword  drawn  from  a cane,  while  Feuilly  with 
a naked  sabre  in  his  hand  walked  along  shouting, 
“ Long  live  Poland  ! ” They  reached  the  Quai  Mor- 
land  without  neck-cloths  or  hats,  panting  for  breath, 
drenched  with  rain,  but  with  lightning  in  their  eyes. 
Gavroche  calmly  approached  them,  — 

“ Where  are  we  going  ? ” 

“ Come,”  said  Courfeyrac. 

Behind  Feuilly  marched  or  rather  bounded  Baho- 
rel, a fish  in  the  water  of  revolt.  He  had  a crimson 
waistcoat,  and  uttered  words  which  smash  everything. 
His  waistcoat  upset  a passer-by,  who  cried  wildly, 
“ Here  are  the  reds  ! ” 


THE  CHILD  ASTONISHES  THE  OLD  MAN.  389 


“ The  reds,  the  reds  ! ” Bahorel  answered ; “ that ’s 
a funny  fear,  citizen.  For  my  part,  I do  not  tremble 
at  a poppy,  and  the  little  red  cap  does  not  inspire 
me  with  any  terror.  Citizen,  believe  me,  we  had 
better  leave  a fear  of  the  red  to  horned  cattle.” 

He  noticed  a corner  wall,  on  which  was  placarded 
the  most  peaceful  piece  of  paper  in  the  world,  a per- 
mission to  eat  eggs,  a Lent  mandamus  addressed 
by  the  Archbishop  of  Paris  to  his  “ flock.”  Bahorel 
exclaimed,  — 

“ A flock ! a polite  way  of  saying  geese.”  And 
he  tore  the  paper  down.  This  conquered  Gavroche, 
and  from  this  moment  he  began  studying  Bahorel. 

“Bahorel,”  Enjolras  observed,  “you  are  WTong; 
you  should  have  left  that  order  alone,  for  we  have 
nothing  to  do  with  it,  and  you  uselessly  expended 
your  anger.  Keep  your  stock  by  you ; a man  does 
not  fire  out  of  the  ranks  any  more  with  his  mind 
than  with  his  gun.” 

“Every  man  has  his  own  way,  Enjolras,”  Bahorel 
replied ; “ the  bishop’s  prose  offends  me,  and  I insist 
on  eating  eggs  without  receiving  permission  to  do  so. 
Amours  is  the  cold  burning  style,  while  I amuse  my- 
self ; moreover,  I am  not  expending  myself,  but  get- 
ting the  steam  up,  and  if  I tore  that  order  down, 
Hercle  ! it  is  to  give  me  an  appetite.” 

This  word  hercle  struck  Gavroche,  for  he  sought 
every  opportunity  of  instructing  himself,  and  this  tear- 
ing dovm  of  posters  possessed  his  esteem.  Hence  he 
asked,  — 

“ What ’s  the  meaning  of  hercle  ? ” 

Bahorel  answered,  — 


390 


THE  EUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


“ It  means  cursed  name  of  a dog  in  Latin.” 

Here  Bahorel  noticed  at  a window  a pale  young 
man,  with  a black  beard,  who  was  watching  them 
pass,  probably  a Friend  of  the  A.  B.  C.  He  shouted 
to  him,  — 

“ Quick  with  the  cartridges,  para  helium  ! ” 

“ A handsome  man  [bel  homme],  that ’s  true,”  said 
Gavroche,  who  now  comprehended  Latin. 

A tumultuous  crowd  accompanied  them,  — stu- 
dents, artists,  young  men  affiliated  to  the  Cougourde 
of  Aix,  artisans,  and  lightermen,  armed  with  sticks 
and  bayonets,  and  some,  like  Combeferre,  with  pis- 
tols passed  through  their  trouser-belt.  An  old  man, 
who  appeared  very  aged,  marched  in  this  baud ; 
he  had  no  weapon,  and  hurried  on,  that  he  might 
not  be  left  behind,  though  he  looked  thoughtful. 
Gavroche  perceived  him. 

“Keksekga?”  said  he  to  Courfeyrac. 

“ That  is  an  antique.” 

It  was  M.  Mabceuf. 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE  OLD  MAJf. 

We  will  tell  what  had  occurred,  Enjolras  and 
his  friends  were  on  the  Bourdon  Boulevard  near  the 
granaries  at  the  moment  when  the  dragoons  charged, 
and  Enjolras,  Courfeyrac,  and  CombefeiTe  were  among 
those  who  turned  into  the  Rue  Bassompierre  shout- 
ing, “ To  the  barricades  ! ” In  the  Rue  Lesdiguihres 
they  met  an  old  man  walking  along,  and  what  at- 
tracted their  attention  was,  that  he  was  moving  very 
irregularly,  as  if  intoxicated.  IMoreover,  he  had  his 
hat  in  his  hand,  although  it  had  rained  the  whole 
morning,  and  was  raining  rather  hard  at  that  very 
moment.  Courfeyrac  recognized  Father  Maboeuf, 
whom  he  knew  through  haxdng  accompanied  Marius 
sometimes  as  far  as  his  door.  Knowing  the  peaceful 
and  more  than  timid  habits  of  the  churchwarden  and 
bibliomaniac,  and  stupefied  at  seeing  him  in  the  midst 
of  the  tumult,  within  two  yards  of  cavalry  charges, 
almost  in  the  midst  of  the  musketry  fire,  bareheaded 
in  the  rain,  and  walking  about  among  bullets,  he 
accosted  him,  and  the  rebel  of  five-and-twenty  and 
the  octogenarian  exchanged  this  dialogue  : — 

“ Monsieur  Maboeuf,  you  had  better  go  home.” 

“ Why  so  ? ” 

“ There  is  going  to  be  a row.” 


392 


THE  EUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


“ Very  good.” 

“ Sabre-cuts  aud  shots,  ISIousieur  Maboeuf.” 

“ Very  good.” 

“ Cannou-sliots.” 

“ Very  good.  Where  are  you  gentlemen  going  ? ” 

“ To  upset  the  Government.” 

“ Very  good.” 

And  he  began  follo^ving  them,  but  since  that  mo- 
ment had  not  said  a word.  His  step  had  become 
suddenly  firm,  and  when  workmen  offered  him  an 
arm,  he  declined  it  with  a shake  of  the  head.  He 
walked  almost  at  the  head  of  the  column,  having  at 
once  the  command  of  a man  who  is  marching  and 
the  face  of  a man  who  is  asleep. 

“ What  a determined  old  fellow  ! ” the  students 
muttered;  and  the  rumor  ran  along  the  party  that  he 
was  an  ex-conventionalist,  an  old  regicide.  The  band 
turn  into  the  Rue  de  la  Verrerie,  and  little  Gavroche 
marched  at  the  head,  singing  at  the  top  of  his  voice, 
which  made  him  resemble  a bugler.  He  sang  : — 

" Void  la  lune  qui  paralt, 

Quaud  irons-nous  dans  la  foret  ? 

Deinandait  Chariot  a Chaidotte. 

“ Ton  ton  ton 
Pour  Chatou. 

Je  n’ai  qu’un  Dieu,  qii’un  roi,  qu’un  Hard  et  qu’une  botte. 

''  Pour  avoir  hu  de  grand  matin 
La  rosee  a meme  le  thym, 

Deux  moineaux  etaient  en  ribotte. 

“ Zi  zi  zi 
Pour  Passy. 

Je  n’ai  qu’un  Dieu,  qu’uu  roi,  qu’un  Hard  et  qu’uue  botte. 


THE  OLD  MAN. 


393 


Et  ees  deux  pauvres  petits  loups, 

Comme  deux  grives  etaient  souls  ; 

Un  tigre  en  riait  daus  sa  grotte. 

“ Don  don  don 
Pour  Meudon. 

Je  n’ai  qu’im  Dieu,  qu’un  roi,  qu’un  liard  et  qu’une  botte. 

“ L’un  jurait  et  I’autre  saerait, 

Quand  irons-nous  dans  la  foret  ? 

Deraandait  Chariot  a Charlotte. 

“Tin  tin  tin 
Pour  Pantin. 

Je  n’ai  qu’un  Dieu,  qu’un  roi,  qu’un  liard  et  qu’une  botte.” 

They  proceeded  towards  St.  Merry. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


RECRUITS, 

The  band  swelled  every  moment,  and  near  the 
Rue  des  Billettes,  a tall,  grayish-haired  man,  whose 
rough  bold  face  Courfeyrac,  Enjolras,  and  Combeferre 
noticed,  though  not  one  of  them  knew  him,  joined 
them.  Gavroche,  busy  singing,  whistling,  and  shout- 
ing, and  rapping  the  window-shutters  with  his  pistol- 
butt,  paid  no  attention  to  this  man.  As  they  went 
through  the  Rue  de  la  Verrerie  they  happened  to 
pass  Courfeyi'ac’s  door. 

“ That ’s  lucky,”  said  Courfeyrac,  “ for  I have  for- 
gotten my  purse  and  lost  my  hat.” 

He  left  the  band  and  bounded  up-stairs,  where  he 
put  on  an  old  hat  and  put  his  purse  in  his  pocket. 
He  also  took  up  a large  square  box  of  the  size  of  a 
portmanteau,  which  was  concealed  among  his  dirty 
linen.  As  he  was  running  down-stairs  again  his  por- 
tress hailed  him. 

“ Monsieur  de  Courfeyrac  ! ” 

“ Portress,  what  is  your  name  ? ” Courfeyrac 
retorted. 

She  stood  in  stupefaction. 

“ Why,  you  know  very  well,  sir,  that  my  name  is 
]\I other  Veuvain,” 


RECRUITS 


Les  Miserables,  IV.  394. 


•h 


EECRUITS. 


395 


“ Well,  then,  if  ever  you  call  me  M.  de  Courfeyrac 
again  I shall  call  you  Mother  de  Veuvaiu.  Now 
speak  ; what  is  it  ? ” 

“ Some  one  mshes  to  speak  to  you.” 

“ Who  is  it  ? ” 

“ I don't  know.” 

“ Where  is  he  ? ” 

“ In  my  lodge.” 

“ Oh,  the  devil ! ” said  Courfeyrac. 

“ Why ! he  has  been  waiting  for  more  than  an 
hour  for  you  to  come  in.” 

At  the  same  time  a species  of  young  workman, 
thin,  livid,  small,  marked  with  freckles,  dressed  in 
an  old  blouse  and  a pair  of  patched  cotton-velvet 
trousers,  who  looked  more  like  a girl  attired  as  a boy 
than  a man,  stepped  out  of  the  lodge  and  said  to 
Courfeyrac  in  a voice  which  was  not  the  least  in  the 
world  a feminine  voice, — 

“ Monsieur  Marius,  if  you  please  ? ” 

“ He  is  not  here.” 

“ Will  he  come  in  to-night  ? ” 

“ I do  not  know.” 

And  Courfeyrac  added,  “I  shall  not  be  in  to- 
night.” 

The  young  man  looked  at  him  intently  and 
asked,  — 

“Why  not?” 

“ Because  I shall  not.” 

“ Where  are  you  going  ? ” 

“ How  does  that  concern  you  ? ” 

“ Shall  I carry  your  chest  for  you  ? ” 

“ I am  going  to  the  barricades.” 


396 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


“ JNIay  I go  with  you  ? ” 

“If  you  like,”  Courfeyrac  replied;  “the  street  is 
free,  and  the  pavement  belongs  to  everybody,” 

And  he  ran  off  to  join  his  friends  again ; when  he 
had  done  so,  he  gave  one  of  them  the  box  to  carry, 
and  it  was  not  till  a quarter  of  an  hour  after  that 
he  noticed  that  the  young  man  was  really  following 
them.  A mob  does  not  go  exactly  where  it  wislies, 
and  we  have  explained  that  a puff  of  wind  directs  it. 
They  passed  St.  Merry,  and  found  themselves,  with- 
out knowing  exactly  why,  in  the  Rue  St,  Denis. 


BOOK  XII. 


CORINTH. 


CHAPTER  I. 

HISTORY  OF  CORINTH  FROM  ITS  FOUNDATION. 

The  Parisians,  who  at  the  present  day  on  entering 
the  Rue  Rambuteau  from  the  side  of  the  Halles 
notice  on  their  right,  opposite  the  Rue  jMondetour,  a 
basket-maker’s  shop  having  for  sign  a basket  iu  the 
shape  of  Napoleon  the  Great,  with  this  inscription  : 

Napoleon  est  fait 
Tout  en  osier, 

do  not  suspect  the  terrible  scenes  which  this  very  site 
saw  hardly  thirty  years  ago.  Here  were  the  Rue  de 
la  Chanvrerie,  which  old  title-deeds  write  Chan- 
verrerie,  and  the  celebrated  wine-shop  called  Corinth. 
Our  readers  well  remember  all  that  has  been  said 
about  the  barricade  erected  at  this  spot,  and  eclipsed 
by  the  way  by  the  St.  IMeiTy  barricade.  It  is  on  this 
famous  barricade  of  the  Rue  de  la  Chanvrerie,  which 
has  now  fallen  into  deep  night,  that  we  are  going  to 
throw  a little  light. 

For  the  clearness  of  our  narrative,  we  may  be  per- 
mitted to  have  recourse  to  the  simple  mode  ivhich 


398 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


we  employed  for  Waterloo.  Those  persons  who  wish 
to  represent  to  themselves  in  a tolerably  exact  man- 
ner the  mass  of  houses  which  at  that  day  stood  near 
Sainte  Eustache  at  the  northeast  corner  of  the  Halles 
de  Paris,  at  tlie  spot  where  the  opening  of  the  Rue 
Rambuteau  now  is,  need  only  imagine  an  N"  whose 
two  vertical  strokes  are  the  Rue  de  la  Grande  Truan- 
derie  and  the  Rue  de  la  Chanvrerie,  and  of  which 
the  Rue  de  la  Petite  Truanderie  would  be  the  cross- 
stroke. The  old  Rue  Mond^tour  intersected  the 
three  strokes  with  the  most  tortuous  angles,  so  that 
the  Djedalian  entanglement  of  these  four  streets  was 
sufficient  to  make,  upon  a space  of  one  hundred 
square  yards,  between  the  Halles  and  the  Rue  St. 
Denis  on  one  side,  between  the  Rue  du  Cygne  and 
the  Rue  des  Precheurs,  on  the  other  side,  seven  islets 
of  houses,  strangely  cut,  of  different  heights,  standing 
sideways,  and  as  if  accidentally,  and  scarce  separated 
by  narrow  cracks,  like  the  blocks  of  stone  in  a dock. 
We  say  narrow  cracks,  and  cannot  give  a fairer  idea 
of  these  obscure,  narrow,  angular  lanes,  bordered  by 
tenements  eight  stories  in  height.  These  houses 
were  so  decrepit  that  in  the  Rues  de  la  Chanvrerie 
and  La  Petite  Truanderie,  the  frontages  were  sup- 
ported by  beams  running  across  from  one  house  to 
the  other.  The  street  was  narrow  and  the  gutter 
wide ; the  passer-by  walked  on  a constantly  damp 
pavement,  passing  shops  like  cellars,  heavy  posts 
shod  with  iron,  enormous  piles  of  filth,  and  gates 
armed  with  extraordinarily  old  palings.  The  Rue 
Rambuteau  has  devastated  alt  this.  The  name  of 
IMond^tour  exactly  describes  the  windings  of  all  this 


HISTORY  OF  CORINTH. 


399 


lay-stall.  A little  farther  on  it  was  found  even 
better  expressed  by  the  Rue  Pirouette,  which  threw 
itself  into  the  Rue  hlondetonr.  The  wayfarer  who 
turned  out  of  the  Rue  St.  Denis  into  the  Rue  de  la 
ChamTerie  saw  it  gradually  contract  before  him,  as 
if  he  had  entered  an  elongated  funnel.  At  the  end 
of  the  street,  which  was  very  short,  he  found  the 
passage  barred  on  the  side  of  the  Halles  by  a tall 
row  of  houses,  and  he  might  have  fancied  himself  in 
a blind  alley  had  he  not  perceived  on  his  right  and 
left  two  black  cuts  through  which  he  could  escape. 
It  was  the  Rue  Mondetour,  which  joined  on  one  side 
the  Rue  des  Pr^cheurs,  on  the  other  the  Rue  du 
Cygne.  At  the  end  of  this  sort  of  blind  alley,  at  the 
corner  of  the  right-hand  cutting,  a house  lower  than 
the  rest,  forming  a species  of  cape  in  the  street,  might 
be  noticed.  It  is  in  this  house,  only  two  stories  high, 
that  an  illustrious  cabaret  had  been  installed  for 
more  than  three  hundred  years.  This  inn  produced 
a joyous  noise  at  the  very  spot  which  old  Theophile 
indicated  in  the  two  lines : 

“ Lil  branle  le  squelette  horrible 
D'un  pauvre  ainant  qui  se  pendit.” 

The  spot  was  good,  and  the  landlords  succeeded 
each  other  from  father  to  son.  In  the  time  of  Mathu- 
rin  Regnier,  this  cabaret  was  called  the  Pot-aux-Boses, 
and  as  rebuses  were  fashionable,  it  had  for  a sign 
a poteau  (post)  painted  in  rose-color.  In  the  last 
century,  worthy  Xatoire,  one  of  the  fantastic  masters 
disdained  at  the  present  day  by  the  stiff  school,  hav- 
ing got  tipsy  several  times  in  this  inn  at  tlie  same 


400 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


table  where  R^gnier  had  got  drunk,  painted,  out  of 
gratitude,  a bunch  of  currants  on  the  pink  post.  The 
landlord,  in  his  delight,  changed  his  sign,  and  had 
the  words  gilded  under  the  bunch.  An  raisin  de 
Corinthe,  — hence  the  name  of  Corinth.  Nothing 
is  more  natural  to  drunkards  than  ellipses,  for  they 
are  the  zigzags  of  language.  Corinth  had  gradually 
dethroned  the  rose-pot,  and  the  last  landlord  of  the 
dynasty.  Father  Hucheloup,  not  being  acquainted 
with  the  tradition,  had  the  post  painted  blue. 

A ground-floor  room  in  which  was  the  bar,  a first- 
floor  room  in  which  was  a billiard-table,  a spiral 
wooden  staircase  piercing  the  ceiling,  wine  on  the 
tables,  smoke  on  the  walls,  and  candles  by  daylight,  — 
such  was  the  inn.  A staircase  with  a trap  in  the 
ground-floor  room  led  to  the  cellar,  and  the  apart- 
ments of  the  Hucheloups,  on  the  second  floor,  were 
reached  by  a staircase  more  like  a ladder,  and 
through  a door  hidden  in  the  wall  of  the  large  first- 
floor  room.  Under  the  roof  were  two  garrets,  the 
nests  of  the  maid-servants,  and  the  kitchen  shared 
the  ground-floor  with  the  bar.  Father  Hucheloup 
might  have  been  born  a chemist,  but  was  really  a 
cook,  and  customers  not  only  drank  but  ate  in  his 
wine-shop.  Hucheloup  had  invented  an  excellent 
dish,  which  could  be  eaten  only  at  his  establishment ; 
it  was  stuffed  carp,  which  he  called  carpes  an  gras. 
This  was  eaten  by  the  light  of  a tallow  candle,  or  a 
lamp  of  the  Louis  XVI.  style,  on  tables  on  which 
oil-cloth  was  nailed  in  lieu  of  a table-cloth.  People 
came  from  a long  distance ; and  Hucheloup  one  fine 
morning  had  thought  it  advisable  to  inform  passers- 


HISTOEY  OF  COKINTH. 


401 


by  of  liis  “ speciality : ” lie  dipped  a brush  in  a pot 
of  blacking,  and  as  he  had  an  orthography  of  his 
own,  he  im2Jrovised  on  his  wall  the,  following  re- 
markable inscription : — 

Carpes  ho  gras. 

One  winter  the  showers  and  the  hail  amused  them- 
selves with  effacing  the  “ s ” which  terminated  the 
first  word,  and  the  “ G ” which  began  the  last,  and 
the  following  was  left ; — 

Carpe  ho  ras. 

By  the  aid  of  time  and  rain  a humble  gastronomic 
notice  had  become  a profound  counsel.  In  this  way 
it  happened  that  Hucheloup,  not  knowing  French, 
had  known  Latin,  had  brought  philosophy  out  of  the 
kitchen,  and  while  simply  wishing  to  eclipse  Careme, 
equalled  Horace.  And  the  striking  thing  was  that 
this  also  meant  “ enter  my  inn.”  Nothing  of  all  this 
exists  at  the  present  day ; the  Mondetour  labyrinth 
was  gutted  and  widened  in  1847,  and  probably  is 
no  longer  to  be  found.  The  Rue  de  la  Chanvrerie 
and  Corinth  have  disappeared  under  the  pavement 
of  the  Rue  Rainbuteau.  As  we  have  said,  Corinth 
was  a meeting-place,  if  not  a gathering-place,  of 
Courfeyrac  and  his  friends,  and  it  was  Grantaire 
who  discovered  it.  He  went  in  for  the  sake  of  the 
carpe  ho  ras,  and  returned  for  the  sake  of  the 
carp  cm  gras.  People  drank  there,  ate  there,  and 
made  a row  there : they  paid  little,  paid  badly,  or 
paid  not  at  all,  but  were  always  welcome.  Father 

VOL.  IV.  26 


402 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EITC. 


Hucheloup  was  a worthy  fellow.  Hucheloup,  whom 
we  have  just  called  a worthy  fellow,  was  an  eating- 
house  keeper  with  a moustache,  — an  amusing  variety. 
He  always  looked  ill-tempered,  appeared  wishful  to 
intimidate  his  customers,  growled  at  persons  who 
came  in,  and  seemed  more  disposed  to  quarrel  with 
them  than  serve  them.  And  yet  we  maintain  people 
were  always  welcome.  This  peculiarity  filled  his 
bar,  and  brought  to  him  young  men  who  said,  “ Let 
us  go  and  have  a look  at  Father  Hucheloup,”  He 
had  been  a fencing-master,  and  would  suddenly  break 
out  into  a laugh ; he  had  a rough  voice,  but  was  a 
merry  fellow.  He  had  a comical  background  with  a 
tragical  appearance ; he  asked  for  nothing  better 
than  to  frighten  you,  something  like  the  snuff-boxes 
which  had  the  shape  of  a pistol,  — the  detonation 
produces  a sneeze.  He  had  for  wife  a Mother  Huche- 
loup, a bearded  and  very  ugly  being.  About  1830 
Father  Hucheloup  died,  and  with  him  disappeared 
the  secret  of  the  carp  cm  gras.  His  widow,  who 
was  almost  inconsolable,  carried  on  the  business, 
but  the  cooking  degenerated  and  became  execrable, 
and  the  wine,  which  had  always  been  bad,  was 
frightful.  Courfeyrac  and  his  friends,  however, 
continued  to  go  to  Corinth,  — through  pity,  said 
Bossuet. 

Widow  Hucheloup  was  short  of  breath  and  shape- 
less, and  had  rustic  recollections,  which  she  deprived 
of  their  insipidity  by  her  pronunciation.  She  had  a 
way  of  her  own  of  saying  things  which  seasoned  her 
reminiscences  of  her  village  and  the  spring : it  had 
formerly  been  her  delight,  she  declared,  to  hear  “ the 


HISTOEY  OF  COEINTH. 


403 


red-beasts  singing  in  tlie  awe-thorns.”  ^ The  first- 
floor  room,  where  the  restaurant  was,  was  a large, 
long  apartment,  erowded  with  stools,  cliairs,  beuehes, 
and  tables,  and  an  old  rickety  billiard-table.  It  was 
reached  by  the  spiral  staircase  which  led  to  a square 
hole  in  the  corner  of  the  room,  like  a ship’s  hatch- 
way. This  apartment,  lighted  by  only  one  narrow 
window  and  a constantly-burning  lamp,  had  a garret- 
look  about  it,  and  all  the  four-legged  articles  of  fur- 
niture behaved  as  if  they  had  only  three.  The  white- 
washed Avail  had  for  sole  ornament  the  following 
quatrain  in  honor  of  Maine  Hucheloup : — 

“ Elle  etonne  a dix  pas,  elle  eponvaute  a deux, 

Une  verrue  habite  en  son  nez  basardeux  ; 

On  tremble  a cbaque  instant  qn'elle  ne  vous  la  inoucbe, 

Et  qu’un  beau  jour  sou  nez  ne  tombe  dans  sa  boucbe.” 

This  Avas  written  in  charcoal  on  the  wall.  INIame 
Hucheloup,  A"ery  like  her  description,  AA’alked  past 
this  quatrain  from  morning  till  night  Avith  the  most 
perfect  tranquillity.  Tavo  seiwant-girls,  called  Mate- 
lote and  Gibelotte,  and  AAdio  Avere  never  knoAvn  by 
other  names,  helped  Marne  Hucheloup  in  placing 
on  the  tables  bottles  of  blue  Avine,  and  the  A’arious 
messes  served  to  the  hungry  guests  in  earthenware 
boAvls.  Matelote,  stout,  round,  red-haired,  and  noisy, 
an  ex-favorite  sultana  of  the  defunct  Hucheloup,  Avas 
uglier  than  the  ugliest  mythological  monster ; and 
yet,  as  it  is  always  proper  that  the  servant  should 

^ Tbe  original  malapropism,  “ les  loups-de-gorge  chanter 
dans  les  ogrepines,”  is  utterly  untranslatable.  Tbe  above  is 
only  an  attempt  to  convey  some  approximative  idea. 


404 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


be  a little  behind  the  mistress,  she  was  not  so  ugly 
as  Maine  Hucheloup.  Gibelotte,  tall,  delicate,  white 
with  a lymphatic  whiteness,  with  blue  circles  round 
her  eyes,  and  drooping  lids,  ever  exhausted  and 
oppressed,  and  suffering  from  what  may  be  called 
chronic  lassitude,  the  first  to  rise,  the  last  to  go 
to  bed,  waited  on  everybody,  even  the  other  servant, 
silently  and  gently,  and  smiling  a sort  of  vague, 
sleepy  smile  through  her  weariness.  Before  entering 
the  restaurant  the  following  line  written  by  Courfeyrac 
in  chalk  was  legible  : “ Regale  si  tu  peux  et  mange 
si  tu  loses.” 


CHAPTER  II. 


preliminary  gateties. 

Laigle  of  Meaux,  as  we  know,  liked  better  to 
live  with  Joly  than  any  one  else,  and  he  bad  a 
lodging  much  as  the  bird  has  a branch.  The  two 
friends  lived  together,  ate  together,  slept  together, 
and  had  everything  in  common,  even  a little  Musi- 
chetta.  They  were  what  they  call  hini  in  the  house 
of  the  Assistant  Brothers.  On  the  morning  of  June  5 
they  went  to  breakfast  at  Corinth.  Joly  had  a cold 
in  his  head,  and  Laigle’s  coat  was  threadbare,  while 
Joly  was  well  dressed.  It  was  about  nine  in  the 
morning  when  they  pushed  open  the  door  of  Corinth, 
and  went  up  to  the  first-floor  room,  where  they  were 
received  by  JMatelote  and  Gibelotte. 

“ Oysters,  cheese,  and  ham,”  said  Laigle. 

They  sat  down  at  a table  ; the  room  was  empty ; 
there  was  no  one  in  it  but  themselves.  Gibelotte, 
recognizing  Joly  and  Laigle,  placed  a bottle  of  wine 
on  the  table,  and  they  attacked  the  first  dozen  of 
oysters.  A head  appeared  in  the  hatchway  and  a 
voice  said, — 

“ As  I was  passing  I smelt  a delicious  perfume 
of  Brie  cheese,  so  I stepped  in.” 

It  was  Grantaire ; he  took  a stool  and  sat  down 


406 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


at  tlie  table.  Gibelotte,  on  seeing  Grantaire,  placed 
two  bottles  of  wine  on  the  table,  which  made  three, 

“ Are  you  going,  to  diink  these  two  bottles  ? ” 
Laigle  asked  Grantaire,  who  replied, — 

“ All  men  are  ingenious,  but  you  alone  are 
* ingenuous.  Two  bottles  never  yet  astonished  a 
man.” 

The  others  began  with  eating,  but  Grantaire  began 
with  drinking  ; a pint  was  soon  swallowed. 

“ Why,  you  must  have  a hole  in  your  stomach,” 
said  Laigle. 

“ Well,  you  have  one  in  your  elbow,”  Grantaire 
retorted,  and  after  emptying  his  glass,  he  added,  — 

“ Oh  yes,  Laigle  of  the  funeral  orations,  your 
coat  is  old.” 

“ I should  hope  so,”  Laigle  replied,  “ for  my  coat 
and  I live  comfortably  together.  It  has  assumed 
all  my  wrinkles,  does  not  hurt  me  anywhere,  has 
moulded  itself  on  my  deformities,  and  is  complacent 
to  all  my  movements,  and  I only  feel  its  presence 
because  it  keeps  me  warm.  Old  coats  and  old 
friends  are  the  same  thing.” 

“Grantaire,”  Joly  asked,  “have  you  come  from 
the  boulevard  ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Laigle  and  I have  just  seen  the  head  of  the  pro- 
cession pass.  It  is  a marvellous  sight.” 

“ How  quiet  this  street  is  ! ” Laigle  exclaimed. 
“ Who  could  suspect  that  Paris  is  turned  topsy- 
turvy ? How  easy  it  is  to  see  that  formerly  there 

Avere  monasteries  all  round  here  ! Du  Breuil  and 

Sauval  give  a list  of  them,  and  so  does  the  Abbe 


PRELIJIINAKY  GAYETIES. 


407 


Lebeuf.  There  was  all  aroiiad  where  Ave  are  now  sit- 
ting a busy  swarm  of  monks,  shod  and  barefooted, 
tonsured  and  bearded,  gray,  black,  white,  Francis- 
cans, Minims,  Cajjuchins,  Carmelites,  little  Augus- 
tines,  great  Augustines,  old  Augustines  — ” 

“ Don’t  talk  about  monks,”  Grantaire  interrupted, 
“ for  it  makes  me  want  to  scratch  myself.”  Then  he 
exclaimed,  — 

“ Bouh  ! I have  just  SAvallowed  a bad  oyster,  and 
that  has  brought  back  my  hyiAochondria.  Oysters 
are  spoiled,  servant-girls  are  ugly,  and  I hate  the 
human  race.  I passed  just  noAV  before  the  great 
public  library  in  the  Rue  Richelieu,  and  that  pile  of 
oyster-shells,  Avhich  is  called  a library,  disgusts  me 
Avith  thinking.  Mdiat  paper  ! Mliat  ink  ! What  pot- 
hooks and  hangers ! All  that  has  been  Avritten  ! 
What  ass  Avas  that  said  man  AA’as  a featherless  biped? 
And  then,  too,  I met  a pretty  girl  I knoAV,  lovely  as 
spring,  and  worthy  to  be  called  Flor^al,  Avho  Avas 
raAished,  transported,  happy  in  Paradise,  the  Avretch, 
because  yesterday  a hideous  banker  spotted  Avith 
small-pox  deigned  to  throAv  his  handkerchief  to  her ! 
Alas ! woman  looks  out  for  a keeper  quite  as  much 
as  a lover ; cats  catch  mice  as  well  as  birds.  This 
girl  not  tAvo  months  ago  Avas  liAung  respectably  in  a 
garret,  and  fitted  little  copper  circles  into  the  eyelet- 
holes  of  stays,  — AA’hat  do  you  call  it  ? She  seAA’ed, 
she  had  a flockbed,  she  liA'ed  by  the  side  of  a pot  of 
floAA’ers,  and  AA^as  happy.  Noav  she  is  a bankeress, 
and  the  transformation  took  place  last  night.  I met 
the  Auctim  this  morning  perfectly  happy,  and  the 
hideons  thing  was  that  the  AAretched  creature  AA^as 


408 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


quite  as  pretty  tins  moruing  as  she  was  yesterday, 
and  there  was  no  sign  of  the  financier  on  her  face. 
Roses  have  this  more  or  less  than  women,  that  the 
traces  which  the  caterpillars  leave  on  them  are  visi- 
ble. Ah ! there  is  no  morality  left  in  the  world,  and 
I call  as  witnesses  the  myrtle,  symbol  of  love,  the 
laurel,  symbol  of  war,  the  olive,  that  absurd  symbol 
of  peace,  the  apple-tree,  Avhich  nearly  choked  Adam 
with  its  pips,  and  the  fig-tree,  the  grandfather  of 
petticoats.  As  for  justice,  do  you  know  what  jus- 
tice is?  The  Gauls  covet  Clusium,  Rome  protects 
Clusium  and  asks  what  wrong  Clusium  has  done 
them.  Brennus  answers,  ‘ The  wrong  which  Alba 
did  to  you,  the  wrong  that  Fid6ne  did  to  you,  the 
wrong  that  the  Equi,  Volscians,  and  Sabines  did  to 
you.  They  were  your  neighbors,  and  the  Clusians 
are  ours.  We  understand  neighborhood  in  the  same 
way  as  you  do.  Y^ou  stole  Alba,  and  we  take 
Clusium.’  Rome  says,  ‘ You  shall  not  take  Clusium.’ 
and  Brennus  took  Rome,  and  then  cried  ‘ Vse  victis  ! ’ 
That  is  what  justice  is  ! Oh,  what  beasts  of  prey 
there  are  in  the  world  ! What  eagles,  what  eagles ! 
the  thought  makes  my  flesh  creep.” 

He  held  out  his  glass  to  Joly,  who  filled  it,  then 
drank,  and  continued  almost  without  having  been 
interrupted  by  the  glass  of  wine,  which  no  one  no- 
ticed, not  even  himself : — 

“ Brennus  who  takes  Rome  is  an  eagle ; the  banker 
who  takes  the  grisette  is  an  eagle ; and  there  is  no 
more  shame  in  one  than  the  other.  So  let  us  believe 
nothing ; there  is  only  one  reality,  drinking.  Of 
whatever  opinion  you  may  be,  whether  you  back  the 


PRELIMINARY  GAYETIES. 


409 


lean  cock,  like  the  canton  of  Uri,  or  the  fat  cock^ 
like  the  canton  of  Glaris,  it  is  of  no  consequence ; 
drink.  You  talk  to  me  about  the  boulevard,  the 
procession,  etc.  ; what,  are  we  going  to  have  another 
revolution  ? This  poverty  of  resources  astonishes 
me  on  the  part  of  le  bon  Dieu ; and  He  must  at 
every  moment  set  to  work  greasing  the  groove  of 
events.  Things  stick  and  won’t  move,  — look  sharp 
then  with  a revolution  ; le  bon  Dieu  has  always  got 
his  hands  black  with  that  filthy  cart-ivheel  grease. 
In  his  place  I should  act  more  simply,  I should  not 
wind  up  my  machinery  at  every  moment,  but  lead 
the  human  race  evenly  ; I should  knit  facts  mesh  by 
mesh  without  breaking  the  thread  ; I should  have 
110  temporary  substitutes,  and  no  extraordinary  rep- 
ertory. What  you  fellows  call  progress  has  tivo 
motive-poivers,  men  and  events,  but  it  is  a sad 
thing  that  something  exceptional  is  required  every 
now  and  then.  For  events  as  for  men  the  ordinary 
stock  company  is  not  sufficient ; among  men  there 
must  be  geniuses,  and  among  events  revolutions. 
Great  accidents  are  the  law,  and  the  order  of  things 
cannot  do  Avithout  them ; and,  judging  from  the 
apjiarition  of  comets,  Ave  might  be  tempted  to  be- 
lie A^e  that  HeaA’eu  itself  feels  a Avant  of  leading- 
actors.  At  the  moment  when  it  is  least  expected, 
God  bills  the  Avail  of  the  firmament  AAuth  a meteor, 
and  some  strange  star  follows,  underlined  by  an 
enormous  tail ; and  that  causes  the  death  of  Caesar. 
Brutus  gives  him  a dagger-thrust,  and  God  deals  him 
a bloAV  Avith  a comet.  Crac  ! here  is  an  aurora 
borealis,  here  is  a revolution,  here  is  a great  man  : 


410 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EITC. 


’93  in  big  letters,  Napoleon  in  a line  by  itself,  and 
the  comet  of  1811  at  the  head  of  the  bill.  Ah! 
Avhat  a fine  blue  poster,  spangled  all  over  with  un- 
expected flashes  ! Bonin  ! bourn  ! an  extraordinary 
sight.  Raise  your  eyes,  idlers.  Everything  is  in 
disorder,  the  star  as  well  as  the  drama.  Oh  Lord ! 
It  is  too  much  and  not  enough;  and  these  resources, 
drawn  from  exceptional  circumstances,  seem  mag- 
nificence and  are  only  poverty.  My  friends.  Prov- 
idence has  fallen  into  the  stage  of  expedients. 
What  does  a revolution  prove  ? That  God  is  running 
short : He  produces  a coup  eVdted,  because  there  is  a 
solution  of  continuity  between  the  present  and  the 
future,  and  He  is  unable  to  join  the  ends.  In  fact, 
this  confirms  me  in  my  conjectures  as  to  the  state  of 
Jehovah’s  fortune ; and  on  seeing  so  much  discom- 
fort above  and  below,  so  much  paltriness  and  pinch- 
ing and  saving  and  distress  both  in  heaven  and  on 
earth,  from  the  bird  which  has  not  a seed  of  grain,  to 
myself  who  have  not  one  hundred  thousand  francs  a 
year,  — on  seeing  human  destiny  which  is  very  much 
worn,  and  even  royal  destiny  which  is  threadbare,  as 
udtness  the  Prince  de  Conde  hanged,  — on  seeing 
winter,  which  is  only  a rent  in  the  zenith  through 
which  the  wind  blows,  — on  seeing  so  many  rags, 
even  in  the  bran-new  morning  purple  on  the  tops  of 
the  hills,  — on  seeing  drops  of  dew,  those  false 
pearls,  and  hoar-frost,  that  paste  jewelry,  — on  see- 
ing humanity  unripped  and  events  patched,  and  so 
many  spots  on  the  sun,  so  many  holes  in  the  moon, 
and  so  much  wretchedness  everywhere,  — I suspect 
that  God  is  not  rich.  There  is  an  appearance,  it  is 


PRELIMINARY  GAYETIES. 


411 


true,  but  I see  the  pressure,  and  He  gives  a revolu- 
tion just  as  a merchant  whose  cash-box  is  empty 
gives  a ball.  We  must  not  judge  , the  gods  by 
appearances,  and  under  the  gilding  of  heaven  I catch 
a glimpse  of  a poor  universe.  There  is  a bankruptcy 
in  creation,  and  that  is  why  I am  dissatisfied.  Just 
see,  this  is  June  5,  and  it  is  almost  night ; I have 
been  waiting  since  morning  for  day  to  come,  and  it 
has  not  come,  and  I will  wager  that  it  does  not  come 
at  all.  It  is  the  irregularity  of  a badly-paid  clerk. 
Yes,  everything  is  badly  arranged,  nothing  fits  into 
anything,  this  old  world  is  thrown  out  of  gear,  and  I 
place  my'self  in  the  ranks  of  the  opposition.  Every- 
thing goes  crooked,  and  the  universe  is  close-fisted ; 
it  is  like  the  children,  — those  who  ask  get  nothing, 
and  those  who  don’t  ask  get  something.  And  then, 
again,  it  afflicts  me  to  look  at  that  bald-headed  Laigle 
of  Meaux,  and  I am  humiliated  by  the  thought  that 
I am  of  the  same  age  as  that  knee.  However,  I 
criticise  but  do  not  insult ; the  universe  is  what  it  is, 
and  I speak  without  any  evil  meaning,  and  solely 
to  do  my  duty  by  my  conscience.  Ah  ! by  all  the 
saints  of  Olympus,  and  by  all  the  gods  of  Paradise, 

I was  not  made  to  be  a Parisian,  that  is  to  say,  to 
be  constantly  thrown  like  a shuttle-cock  between 
two  battledores,  from  a group  of  idlers  to  a group 
of  noisy  fellows.  Xo  ! I was  meant  to  be  a Turk, 
looking  all  day  at  Egyptian  damsels  performing  those 
exquisite  dances,  wmnton  like  the  dreams  of  a chaste  » 
man,  or  a Beauceron  peasant,  or  a Venetian  gentle- 
man surrounded  by  fair  ladies,  or  a little  German 
prince,  supplying  one  half  a soldier  to  the  Germanic 


412 


THE  EUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


Confederation,  and  employing  his  leisure  hours  in 
drying  his  stockings  on  his  hedge,  that  is  to  say, 
his  frontier  ! Such  were  the  destinies  for  which  I 
was  born.  Yes,  I said  Turk,  and  I wdll  not  recall 
it.  I do  not  understand  why  the  Turks  are  usually 
looked  upon  askance,  for  INIahom  has  some  good 
points.  Let  us  respect  the  inventor  of  harems  of 
houris,  and  Paradises  of  Odalisques,  and  we  ought 
not  to  insult  Mahometism,  the  only  religion  adorned 
with  a hen-coop  ! After  this,  I insist  on  drinking, 
for  the  earth  is  a great  piece  of  stupidity.  And  it 
appears  that  all  those  asses  are  going  to  fight,  to 
break  each  other’s  heads  and  massacre  one  another 
in  the  heart  of  summer,  in  the  month  of  June,  •when 
they  might  go  off  'udth  a creature  on  their  arm  to 
inhale  in  the  fields  the  perfume  of  that  immense  cup 
of  tea  of  cut  hay.  Really,  too  many  follies  are  com- 
mitted. An  old  broken  lantern,  which  I saw  just 
now  at  a bric-k-brac  dealer’s,  suggests  a reflection  to 
me,  ‘ it  is  high  time  to  enlighten  the  human  race.’ 
Yes,  I am  sad  again,  and  it  has  come  from  swal- 
lowing an  oyster  and  a revolution  the  wrong  way. 
I am  growing  lugubrious  again.  Oh,  frightful  old 
world ! On  your  surface  peojile  strive,  are  destitute, 
prostitute  themselves,  kill  themselves,  and  grow 
accustomed  to  it ! ” 

And  after  this  burst  of  eloquence  Grantaire  had  a 
burst  of  coughing,  which  was  well  deserved. 

“Talking  of  a revolution,”  said  Joly,  “it  seebs 
that  Barius  is  certaidly  in  love.” 

“ Do  you  know  with  whom  ? ” Laigle  asked. 

“ Do.  ” 


PRELIMINARY  GAYETIES. 


413 


“Xo?” 

“ Do,  I tell  you/’ 

“ The  loves  of  Marius  ! ” Grantaire  exclaimed, 
“ I can  see  them  from  here.  jNIarius  is  a fog  and 
will  have  found  a vapor.  JMarius  is  of  the  poetic 
race.  Who  says  poet  says  madman.  Tymbrams 
Apollo.  Marius  and  his  Marie,  or  his  Maria,  or 
his  Mariette,  or  his  Marion,  must  be  a funny 
brace  of  lovers.  I can  fancy  what  it  is : ecstasies 
in  which  kissing  is  forgotten.  Chaste  on  earth 
but  connected  in  the  infinitude.  They  are  souls 
that  have  feelings,  and  they  sleep  together  in  the 
stars.” 

Grantaire  was  attacking  his  second  bottle,  and  per- 
haps his  second  harangue,  when  a new  head  emerged 
from  the  staircase  hatchway.  It  was  a boy  under  ten 
years  of  age,  ragged,  very  short  and  yellow,  with  a 
bull-dog  face,  a quick  eye,  and  an  enormous  head  of 
hair  ; he  was  dripping  with  wet,  but  seemed  happy. 
The  lad  choosing  without  hesitating  among  the  three, 
though  he  knew  none  of  them,  addressed  Laigle  of 
Meaux. 

“ Are  you  Monsieur  Bossuet  ? ” he  asked. 

“ I am  called  so,”  Laigle  replied  ; “ what  do  you 
want  ? ” 

“ A big  blonde  on  the  boulevard  said  to  me,  ‘ Do 
you  know  Mother  Hucheloup’s  ? ’ I said,  ‘ Yes,  Rue 
Chanvrerie,  the  widow  of  the  old  buifer.’  He  says 
to  me,  ‘ Go  there ; you  will  find  Monsieur  Bossuet 
there,  and  say  to  him  from  me,  A — B — C.’  I sup- 
pose it ’s  a trick  played  you,  eh  ? He  gave  me  ten 
sous.” 


414 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


“ Joly,  lend  me  ten  sous,”  said  Laigle ; and  turning 
to  Grantaire,  “ Grantaire,  lend  me  ten  sous.” 

This  made  twenty  sous,  which  Laigle  gave  the  lad. 
“ Thank  you,  sir,”  he  said. 

“ What  is  your  name  ? ” Laigle  asked. 

“ Navet,  Gavroche’-s  friend.” 

“ Stay  with  us,”  Laigle  said. 

“ Breakfast  with  us,”  Grantaire  added. 

The  lad  replied,  “ I can’t,  for  I belong  to  the  pro- 
cession, and  have  to  cry,  ‘ Down  with  Polignac  ! ’ ” 

And,  drawing  his  foot  slowly  after  him,  which  is 
the  most  respectful  of  bows  possible,  he  went  away. 
When  he  was  gone,  Grantaire  remarked,  — 

“ That  is  the  pure  gamin,  and  there  are  many 
varieties  in  the  gamin  genus.  The  notary-gamin  is 
called  ' skip-the-gutter  ; ’ the  cook-gamiii  is  called 
‘ scullion  ; ’ the  baker-gamin  is  called  ‘ paper-cap  ; ’ 
the  footman-gamin  is  called  ‘ tiger ; ’ tlie  sailor- 
gamin  is  called  ‘ cabin-boy ; ’ the  soldier-gamin  is 
called  ‘ drummer-boy  ; ’ the  painter-gamin  is  called 
‘ dauber ; ’ the  tradesman-gamin  is  called  ‘ errand- 
boy  ; ’ the  courtier-gamin  is  called  ‘ favorite  ; ’ the 
royal-gamin  is  called  ‘ dauphin ; ’ and  the  divine- 
gamin  is  called  ‘ Bambino.’  ” 

In  the  mean  while  Laigle  meditated,  and  said  in  a 
low  voice,  — 

“A  — B — C,  that  is  to  say,  funeral  of  General 
Lamarque.” 

“ The  tall,  fair  man,”  Grantaire  observed,  “ is 
Enjolras,  who  has  sent  to  warn  you.” 

“ Shall  we  go  ? ” asked  Bossuet. 

“It’s  raiding,”  said  Joly;  “I  have  sworn  to  go 


PRELIMINARY  GAYETIES. 


415 


through  fire  but  clot  through  water,  aud  I do  dot 
wish  to  bake  bv  cold  worse.” 

“ I shall  stay  here,”  Grautaire  remarked ; “ I pre- 
fer a breakfast  to  a hearse.” 

“ Couclusiou,  we  remaiu,”  Laigle  continued  ; “ in 
that  case  let  us  drink.  Besides,  we  may  miss  the 
funeral  without  missing  the  row.” 

“ Ah,  the  row ! ” cried  Joly,  “ I ’b  id  that.” 

Laigle  rubbed  his  hands. 

“ So  the  revolution  of  1830  is  going  to  begin  over 
again.  Indeed,  it  disturbs  people  by  brushing  against 
them.” 

“ I do  not  care  a rap  for  your  revolution,”  Gran- 
taire  remarked,  “ and  I do  not  execrate  the  present 
Government,  for  it  is  the  crown  tempered  by  the  cot- 
ton nightcap,  a sceptre  terminating  in  an  umbrella. 
In  such  weather  as  this  Louis  Philippe  might  use  his 
royalty  for  two  objects,  — stretch  out  the  sceptre-end 
against  the  people,  and  open  the  umbrella-end  against 
the  sky.” 

The  room  was  dark,  and  hea\’y  clouds  completely 
veiled  the  daylight.  There  was  no  one  in  the  wine- 
shop or  in  the  streets,  for  everybody  had  gone  “ to 
see  the  events.” 

“ Is  it  midday  or  midnight  ? ” Bossuet  asked  ; “ I 
can  see  nothing ; bring  a candle,  Gibelotte.” 

Grantaire  was  drinking  sorrowfully. 

“Enjolras  disdains  me,”  he  muttered.  “ Enjolras 
said  to  himself,  ‘ Joly  is  ill  and  Grantaire  is  drunk,’ 
and  so  he  sent  Xavet  to  Bossuet.  And  yet,  if  he 
had  fetched  me,  I would  have  followed  him.  All 
the  worse  for  Enjolras  ! I will  not  go  to  his  funeral.” 


416 


THE  EUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


This  resolution  formed,  Bossuet,  Grantairc,  and  July 
did  not  stir  from  the  wine-sliop,  and  at  about  2 p.  m. 
the  table  at  which  they  sat  was  covered  with  empty 
bottles.  Two  candles  burned  on  it,  one  in  a per- 
fectly green  copper  candlestick,  the  other  in  the 
neck  of  a cracked  water-bottle.  Grantairc  had  led 
Joly  and  Bossuet  to  wine,  and  Bossuet  and  Joly  had 
brought  Grantairc  back  to  joy.  As  for  Grantairc,  he 
gave  up  wine  at  midday,  as  a poor  inspirer  of  illu- 
sions. VV^ine  is  not  particularly  valued  by  serious 
sots,  for  in  ebriety  there  is  black  magic  and  white 
magic,  and  wine  is  only  the  white  magic.  Grantairc 
was  an  adventurous  drinker  of  dreams.  The  black- 
ness of  a formidable  intoxication  yawning  before  him, 
far  from  arresting,  attracted  him,  and  he  had  given 
up  bottles  and  taken  to  the  dram-glass,  which  is 
an  abyss.  Not  having  at  hand  either  opium  or 
hashish,  and  wishing  to  fill  his  brain  with  darkness, 
he  turned  to  that  frightful  mixture  of  brandy^ 
stout,  and  absinthe,  which  produces  such  terrible 
lethargies.  Of  these  three  vapors,  beer,  brandy, 
and  absinthe,  the  lead  of  the  soul  is  made  : they  are 
three  darknesses  in  which  the  celestial  butterfly  is 
droAvned ; and  there  are  formed  in  a membraneous 
smoke,  vaguely  condensed  into  a bat’s  wing,  three 
dumb  furies.  Nightmare,  Night,  and  Death,  which 
hover  over  the  sleeping  Psyche.  Grantairc  had  not 
yet  reached  that  phase  ; far  from  it ; he  was  pro- 
digiously gay,  and  Bossuet  and  Joly  kept  even  witli 
him.  Grantairc  added  to  the  eccentric  accentuation 
of  words  and  ideas  the  vagary  of  gestures  ; he  laid 
his  left  hand  on  his  knee  with  a dignified  air,  and 


PRELIMINARY  GAYETIES. 


417 


with  his  neckcloth  unloosed,  straddling  his  stool,  and 
wdth  his  full  glass  in  his  right  hand,  he  threw  these 
solemn  words  at  the  stout  servant-girl  Matelote ; — 

“ Open  the  gates  of  the  Palace ! Let  every  man 
belong  to  the  Acad^mie  Francaise,  and  have  the 
right  of  embracing  IMadame  Ilucheloup  ! Let  us 
drink.” 

And  turning  to  the  landlady,  he  added,  — 

“ Antique  female,  consecrated  by  custom,  approach, 
that  I may  contemplate  thee.” 

And  Joly  exclaimed,  — 

“ Batelote  and  Gibelotte,  don’t  give  Grantaire  ady- 
bore  drink.  He  is  spending  a frightful  sum,  and 
odly  since  this  borning  has  devoured  in  shabeful 
prodigality  two  francs,  ninety-five  centibes.” 

And  Grantaire  went  on,  — 

“ AVho  has  unhooked  the  stars  without  my  leave, 
in  order  to  place  them  on  the  table  in  lieu  of 
candles  ? ” 

Bossuet,  who  Avas  very  drunk,  had  retained  his 
calmness,  and  was  sitting  on  the  sill  of  the  open  win- 
dow, letting  the  rain  drench  his  back,  while  he  gazed 
at  his  two  friends.  All  at  once  he  heard  behind  him 
a tumult,  hurried  footsteps,  and  shouts  of  “ To 
arms ! ” He  turned,  and  noticed  in  the  Rue  St. 
Denis,  at  the  end  of  the  Rue  Chanvrerie,  Enjolras 
passing,  carbine  in  hand,  GaATOche  with  his  pistol, 
Feuilly  with  his  sabre,  Courfeyrace  with  his  SAVord, 
Jean  Prouvaire  Avith  his  musquetoon,  Combeferre 
Avith  his  gun,  Bahorel  Avith  his,  and  the  Avhole  armed 
and  stormy  band  that  folloAved  them.  The  Rue  de 
la  ChaiiATerie  Avas  not  a pistol-shot  in  length,  so 

\"OL.  IV.  27 


418 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


Bossuet  improvised  a speaking-trumpet  with  his  two 
hands  round  his  mouth,  and  shouted,  — 

“ Courfeyrac  ! Courfeyrac  ! hilloh  ! ” 

Courfeyrac  heard  the  summons,  perceived  Bossuet, 
and  walked  a few  steps  down  the  Rue  de  la  Chan- 
vrerie,  exclaiming,  “What  do  you  want?  ” which  was 
crossed  by  a “ Where  are  you  going  ? ” 

“ To  make  a barricade,”  Courfeyrac  answered. 

“ AVcll,  why  not  make  it  here?  the  spot  is  good.” 

“ That  is  true.  Eagle,”  Courfeyrac  remarked. 

And  at  a sign  from  Courfeyrac  the  mob  rushed 
into  the  Rue  de  la  Chanvrerie. 


CHAPTER  III. 


THE  NIGHT  BEGINS  TO  FALL  ON  GRANTAIRE. 

The  ground  was,  in  fact,  admii’ably  suited ; tbs 
entrance  of  the  street  was  wide,  the  end  narrowed, 
and,  like  a blind  alley,  Corinth  fonned  a contraction 
in  it,  the  Rue  de  !Mondetour  could  be  easily  barred 
right  and  left,  and  no  attack  was  possible  save  by 
the  Rue  St.  Denis  ; that  is  to  say,  from  the  front  and 
in  the  open.  Bossuet  drunk  had  had  the  inspiration 
of  Hannibal  sober.  At  the  sound  of  the  band  rush- 
ing on,  terror  seized  on  the  whole  ’ street,  and  not  a 
passer-by  but  disaiipeared.  More  quickly  than  a 
flash  of  lightning,  shops,  stalls,  gates,  doors,  Vene- 
tian blinds,  and  shutters  of  every  size  were  shut  from 
the  ground-floor  to  the  roofs,  at  the  end,  on  the  right, 
and  on  the  left.  An  old  terrified  woman  fixed  up  a 
mattress  before  her  window  with  clothes-props,  in 
order  to  deaden  the  musketry,  and  the  public-house 
alone  remained  open,  — and  for  an  excellent  reason, 
because  the  insurgents  had  rushed  into  it. 

“ Oh  Lord ! oh  Lord  ! ” ISlame  Hncheloup  sighed. 

Bossuet  ran  doivn  to  meet  Courfeyrac,  and  Joly, 
who  had  gone  to  the  window,  shouted,  — 

“ Courfeyrac,  you  ought  to  have  brought  an  um- 
brella. A"ou  will  catch  cold.” 


420 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


Ill  a few  minutes  twenty  iron  bars  were  pulled 
down  from  the  railings  in  front  of  the  inn,  and  ten 
yards  of  pavement  dug  up,  Gavroche  and  Bahorel 
seized,  as  it  passed,  the  truck  of  a lime-dealer  of  the 
name  of  Anceau,  and  found  in  it  three  barrels  of 
lime,  which  they  placed  under  the  piles  of  paving- 
stones  ; Enjolras  had  raised  the  cellar-flap,  and  all 
Maine  Huchelonp’s  empty  casks  went  to  join  the 
barrels  of  lime  ; Feuilly,  with  his  fingers  accustomed 
to  illumine  the  delicate  sticks  of  fans,  reinforced  the 
barrels  and  the  trucks  with  two  massive  piles  of 
stones,  — rough  stones,  improvised  like  the  rest,  and 
taken  from  no  one  knew  where.  The  supporting 
shores  were  pulled  away  from  the  frontage  of  an  ad- 
joining house,  and  laid  on  the  casks.  When  Cour- 
feyrac  and  Bossuet  turned  round,  one  half  the  street 
Avas  already  barred  by  a rampart  taller  than  a man, 
for  there  is  nothing  like  the  hand  of  the  people  to 
build  up  anything  that  is  built  by  demolishing. 
Matelote  and  Gibelotte  Avere  mixed  up  Avith  the 
Avorkmen,  and  the  latter  Avent  backAvards  and  for- 
AA'ards,  loaded  Avith  rubbish,  and  her  lassitude  helped 
at  the  barricade.  She  serA'ed  paA'iug-stones,  as  she 
Avould  have  ser\’ed  AAdne,  AAuth  a sleepy  look.  An- 
omnibus  draAVu  by  two  Avhite  horses  passed  the  end 
of  the  street ; Bossuet  jumped  oA^er  the  stones,  ran 
up,  stopped  the  driver,  ordered  the  passengers  to  get 
out,  oftered  his  hand  to  “ the  ladies,”  dismissed  the 
conductor,  and  returned,  pulling  the  horses  on  by 
the  bridles. 

“ Omnibuses,”  he  said,  “ must  not  pass  before 
Corinth.  jVou  licet  omnibus  adire  Corinthum.” 


NIGHT  BEGINS  TO  FALL  ON  GBANTAIRE.  421 


A moment  after,  the  unharnessed  horses  were 
straggling  down  the  Rue  Mondetour,  and  the  omni- 
bus lying  on  its  side  completed  the  barricade.  Marne 
Hucheloup,  quite  upset,  had  sought  refuge  on  the 
first-floor ; her  eyes  were  wandering  and  looked  with- 
out seeing,  and  her  cries  of  alarm  dared  not  issue 
from  her  throat, 

“ It  is  the  end  of  the  world,”  she  muttered. 

Joly  deposited  a kiss  on  IMaine  Hucheloup’s  fat, 
red,  wrinkled  neck,  and  said  to  Grantaire,  “ My  dear 
fellow,  I have  always  considered  a woman’s  neck  an 
infinitely  delicate  thing.”  But  Grantaire  had  reached 
the  highest  regions  of  dithyramb.  When  Matelote 
came  up  to  the  first-floor,  he  seized  her  round  the 
waist  and  burst  into  loud  peals  of  laughter  at  the 
window. 

“ Matelote  is  ugly,”  he  cried ; “ IMatelote  is  the 
ideal  of  ugliness ; she  is  a chimera.  Here  is  the  se- 
cret of  her  birth,  — a Gothic  Pygmalion,  who  was 
carving  cathedral  gargoyles,  fell  in  love  on  a fine 
morning  with  tlie  most  horrible  of  them.  He  im- 
plored love  to  animate  it,  and  this  produced  Mate- 
lote. Look  at  her,  citizens ! She  has  chromate-of- 
lead-colored  hair,  like  Titian’s  mistress,  and  is  a good 
girl ; I will  answer  that  she  fights  well,  for  every 
good  girl  contains  a hero.  As  for  Mother  Huche- 
loup, she  is  an  old  brave.  Look  at  her  mustachios  ; 
she  inherited  them  from  her  husband.  She  will  fight 
too,  and  the  couple  will  terrify  the  whole  of  the  sub- 
urbs. Comrades,  we  will  overthrow  the  Govern- 
ment so  truly  as  there  are  fifteen  intermediate  acids 
between  margaric  acid  and  formic  acid ; however,  it 


422 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


is  a matter  of  perfect  indifference  to  me.  My  father 
always  detesteel  me  because  I coukl  not  understand 
matliematics ; I only  understand  love  and  liberty. 
I am  Grantaire,  the  good  fellow ; never  having  had 
any  money,  I have  not  grown  accustomed  to  it,  and 
for  that  reason  have  never  wanted  it ; but,  had  1 
been  rich,  there  would  be  no  poor  left!  You  would 
have  seen  ! Oh,  if  good  hearts  had  large  purses,  how 
much  better  things  would  be  1 I can  imagine  the 
Saviour  with  Rothschild’s  fortune ! What  good  he 
would  do ! IMatelote,  embrace  me ! You  are  volup- 
tuous and  timid ; you  have  cheeks  that  claim  the 
kiss  of  a sister,  and  lips  that  claim  the  kiss  of  a 
lover ! ” 

“ Hold  your  tongue,  barrel ! ” Courfeyrac  said. 

Grantaire  replied,  — 

“ I am  the  Capitoul  and  master  of  the  Floral 
games  ! ” 

Enjolras,  who  was  standing  on  the  top  of  the  bar- 
ricade, gun  in  hand,  raised  his  handsome,  stern  face. 
Enjolras,  as  we  know,  blended  the  Spartan  with  the 
Puritan  ; he  would  have  died  at  Thermopylm  with 
Leonidas,  and  burned  Drogheda  with  Cromwell. 

“ Grantaire,”  he  cried,  “ go  and  sleep  off  your  wine 
elsewhere  ; this  is  the  place  for  intoxication,  and  not 
for  drunkenness.  Do  not  dishonor  the  barricade.” 

These  stinging  words  produced  on  Grantaire  a sin- 
gular effect,  and  it  seemed  as  if  he  had  received  a 
glass  of  cold  water  in  his  face.  He  appeared  sud- 
denly sobered,  sat  down  near  the  window,  gazed  at 
Enjolras  with  inexpressible  tenderness,  and  said  to 
him,  — 


NIGHT  BEGINS  TO  FALL  ON  GRANTAIRE.  423 


“ Let  me  sleep  liere.” 

“ Go  and  sleep  elsewhere,”  Enjolras  eried. 

But  Grantaire,  still  fixing  on  him  his  tender  and 
misty  eyes,  answered,  — 

“ Let  me  sleep  here  till  I die  here.” 

Enjolras  looked  at  him  disdainfnlly. 

“ Grantaire,  you  are  incapable  of  believing,  think- 
ing, wishing,  living,  and  dying.” 

Grantaire  replied  in  a grave  voice,  — 

“ You  will  see.” 

He  stammered  a few  more  unintelligible  words, 
then  his  head  fell  noisily  on  the  table,  and  — as  is 
the  usual  effect  of  the  second  period  of  ebriety  into 
which  Enjolras  had  roughly  and  suddenly  thrust  him 
— a moment  later  he  was  asleep. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


AN  ENDEAVOR  TO  CONSOLE  THE  WIDOW 
HUCHELOUP. 

Bahorel,  delighted  with  the  barrieade,  exclaimed, 
“ How  well  the  street  looks  decollete  ! ” 

Courfeyrac,  while  gradually  demolishing  the  public- 
house,  tried  to  console  the  widowed  landlady. 

“ AI other  Hucheloup,  were  you  not  complaining 
the  other  day  that  you  had  been  summoned  by  the 
police,  because  Gibelotte  shook  a counterpane  out 
of  the  window  ? ’ 

“ A^es,  my  good  Monsieur  Courfeyrac.  Ah  ! good 
gracious  ! are  you  going  to  put  that  table  too  in  your 
horror  ? A^es,  and  the  Government  also  condemned 
me  to  a fine  of  one  hundred  francs  on  account  of  a 
flower-pot  that  fell  out  of  the  garret  into  the  street. 
Is  that  not  abominable  ? ” 

“ Well,  AI other  Hucheloup,  we  are  going  to 
avenge  you.” 

Mother  Hucheloup  did  not  exactly  see  the  ad- 
vantage accruing  to  her  from  the  reparation  made 
her.  She  was  satisfied  after  the  fashion  of  the  Arab 
woman  who,  having  received  a box  on  the  ears  from 
her  husband,  went  to  complain  to  her  father,  crying 
vengeance,  and  saying,  “ Father,  you  owe  my  hus- 
band affront  for  affront.”  The  father  asked,  “ On 


CONSOLING  THE  WIDOW  HUCHELOUF.  425 


which  cheek  did  you  receive  the  blow  ? ” “ On  the 

left  cheek.”  The  father  boxed  her  right  cheek,  and 
said,  “ Xow  you  must  be  satisfied.  Go  and  tell  your 
husband  that  he  buffeted  my  daughter,  but  I have 
buffeted  his  wife.”  The  rain  had  ceased,  and  recruits 
began  to  arrive.  Artisans  brought  under  their  blouses 
a barrel  of  gunpowder,  a hamper  containing  carboys 
of  vitriol,  two  or  three  carnival  torches,  and  a basket 
full  of  lainjDS,  “ remaining  from  the  king’s  birthday,” 
which  was  quite  recent,  as  it  was  celebrated  on  May  1. 
It  was  said  that  this  ammunition  was  sent  by  a grocer 
in  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine  named  Pepin.  The 
only  lantern  in  the  Rue  de  la  Chanvrerie,  and  all 
those  in  the  surrounding  streets,  were  broken.  Enjol- 
ras,  Combeferre,  and  Courfeyrac  directed  everything, 
and  now  two  barricades  were  erected  simultaneously, 
both  of  which  were  supported  by  Corinth  and  formed 
a square  ; the  larger  one  closed  the  Rue  de  la  Chan- 
vrerie, and  the  smaller  the  Rue  INIondetour  on  the 
side  of  the  Rue  du  Cygue.  This  latter  barricade, 
which  was  very  narrow,  was  merely  made  of  barrels 
and  paATng-stones.  There  were  about  fifty  workmen 
there,  of  whom  three  were  armed  with  guns,  for 
on  the  road  they  had  borrowed  a gunsmith’s  entire 
stock. 

Nothing  could  be  stranger  or  more  motley  than 
this  group  : one  had  a sleeved  waistcoat,  a cavalry 
sabre,  and  a pair  of  holster  pistols ; another  was  in 
shirt-sleeves,  ^vith  a round  hat,  and  a powder-flask 
hung  at  his  side ; while  a third  was  cuirassed  with 
nine  sheets  of  gray  paper,  and  was  armed  with  a 
saddler’s  awl.  There  was  one  who  shouted,  “Let 


426 


THE  EUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


US  exterminate  to  the  last,  and  die  on  the  point  of 
our  bayonet ! ” This  man  had  no  bayonet.  Another 
displayed  over  his  coat  the  belts  and  pouch  of  a 
National  Guard,  with  these  words  sewn  in  red  worsted 
on  the  cover,  “ Public  order.”  There  were  many 
muskets,  bearing  the  numbers  of  legions,  few  hats, 
no  neckties,  a great  many  bare  arms,  and  a few 
pikes ; add  to  this  all  ages,  all  faces,  short  pale 
youths,  and  bronzed  laborers  at  the  docks.  All  were 
in  a hurry,  and  while  assisting  each  other,  talked 
about  the  possible  chances,  — that  they  were  sure 
of  one  regiment,  and  Paris  would  rise.  There  were 
terrible  remarks,  with  which  a sort  of  cordial  jo\'iality 
was  mingled  ; they  might  have  been  taken  for  broth- 
ers, though  they  did  not  know  one  another’s  names. 
Great  dangers  have  this  beauty  about  them,  that 
they  throw  light  on  the  fraternity  of  strangers. 

A fire  was  lighted  in  the  kitchen,  and  men  were 
melting  in  a bullet-mould,  bowls,  spoons,  forks,  and 
all  the  pewter  articles  of  the  public-house.  They 
drank  while  doing  this,  and  caps  and  slugs  lay 
pell-mell  on  the  table  with  glasses  of  wine.  In 
the  billiard-room  Marne  Hucheloup,  Matelote,  and 
Gibelotte,  variously  affected  by  terror,  — as  one  was 
brutalized  by  it,  another  had  her  breath  stopped, 
wdiile  the  third  was  awakened,  — were  tearing  up 
old  sheets  and  making  lint ; three  insurgents  helped 
them, — three  hairy,  bearded,  and  moustached  fellows, 
who  pulled  the  linen  asunder  with  the  fingers  of  a 
sempstress  and  made  them  tremble.  The  tall  man, 
whom  Courfeyrac,  Combeferre,  and  Enjolras  had 
noticed  as  he  joined  the  band  at  the  corner  of  the 


CONSOLING  THE  WIDOW  HUCHELOUP.  427 


Rue  des  Billettes,  was  working  at  tlie  small  barri-  • 
cade  and  making  himself  useful ; Gavroche  was 
working  at  the  large  one ; and  as  for  the  young  man 
who  had  waited  for  Courfeyrac  at  his  lodgings  and 
asked  after  M.  Marius,  he  disappeared  just  about 
the  time  when  the  omnibus  was  overthrown. 

Gavroche,  who  was  perfectly  radiant,  had  taken 
the  arrangements  on  himself ; he  came,  went,  as- 
cended, descended,  went  up  again,  rustled  and 
sparkled.  He  seemed  to  be  there  for  the  encour- 
agement of  all.  Had  he  a spur  ? Certainly,  in  his 
misery.  Had  he  wings  ? Certainly,  in  his  joy. 
Ga^Toche  was  a whirlwind  ; he  was  seen  incessantly, 
and  constantly  heard,  and  he  filled  the  air,  being 
everywhere  at  once.  He  was  a sort  of  almost  irri- 
tating ubiquity,  and  it  was  impossible  to  stop  with 
him.  The  enormous  barricade  felt  him  on  its  crup- 
per ; he  annoyed  the  idlers,  excited  the  slothful, 
reanimated  the  fatigued,  vexed  the  thoughtful,  ren- 
dered some  gay  and  gave  others  time  to  breathe, 
set  some  in  a passion  and  all  in  motion  ; he  piqued 
a student  and  stung  a workman ; he  halted,  then 
started  again,  flew  over  the  turmoil  and  the  efforts, 
leaped  from  one  to  the  other,  murmured,  buzzed, 
and  harassed  the  whole  team  ; he  was  the  fly  of  the 
immense  revolutionary  coach.  Perpetual  movement 
was  in  his  little  arms,  and  perpetual  clamor  in  his 
little  lungs. 

“ Push  ahead  ; more  pa\dng-stones,  more  barrels, 
more  vehicles ! MTiere  are  there  any  ? We  want 
a hodload  of  plaster  to  stop  up  this  hole.  Your 
barricade  is  very  small,  and  must  mount.  Put  every- 


428 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


• thing  into  it ; smash  up  the  liouse  ; a barricade  is 
Mother  Gibou’s  tea.  Hilloh  ! there ’s  a glass  door.” 

This  made  the  workmen  exclaim,  — 

“A  glass  door ! What  would  you  have  us  do  with 
that,  tubercule  ? ” 

“ Hercules  yourselves,”  Gavroche  retorted ; “ a glass 
door  in  a barricade  is  excellent,  for  though  it  does 
not  prevent  the  attack,  it  makes  it  awkward  to  take 
it.  Have  you  never  boned  apples  over  a wall  on 
which  there  was  broken  glass  ? A glass  door  cuts 
the  corns  of  the  National  Guards  when  they  try  to 
climb  up  the  barricade.  By  Job  ! glass  is  treacher- 
ous. Well,  you  fellows  have  no  very  bright  imagi- 
nation.” 

He  was  furious  with  his  useless  pistol,  and  went 
from  one  to  the  other,  saying,  “A  guu ! I want  a gun  ! 
Why  don’t  you  give  me  a gun  ? ” 

“ A gun  for  you  ? ” said  Combeferre. 

“ Well,  why  not  ? ” Gavroche  answered  ; “ I had 
one  in  1830,  when  we  quarrelled  with  Charles  X.” 

Enjolras  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

“ When  all  the  men  have  guns  we  will  give  them 
to  boys.” 

Gavroche  turned  firmly,  and  answered  him,  — 

“ If  you  are  killed  before  me  I will  take  yours.” 

“ Gamin  ! ” said  Enjolras. 

“ Puppy  ! ” said  Gavroche. 

A dandy  lounging  past  the  end  of  the  street  created 
a diversion  ; Gavroche  shouted  to  him,  — 

“ Come  to  us,  young  man  ! What,  will  you  do 
nothing  for  your  old  country  ? ” 

The  dandy  fled. 


CHAPTER  V. 


PREPARATIONS. 

The  journals  of  the  day  which  stated  that  the  bar- 
ricade in  the  Rue  de  la  Chauvrerie,  that  “ almost  im- 
pregnable fortress,”  as  they  called  it,  reached  the  level 
of  a first-floor,  are  mistaken,  for  the  truth  is  that  it 
did  not  exceed  an  average  height  of  six  or  seven  feet. 
It  was  so  built  that  the  combatants  could  at  will 
either  disappear  behind  it  or  ascend  to  its  crest  by 
means  of  a quadruple  row  of  pa\dng-stones  arranged 
like  steps  inside.  Externally  the  front  of  the  bar- 
ricade, eomposed  of  piles  of  paving-stones  and  bar- 
rels, held  together  by  joists  and  planks  passed 
through  the  wheels  of  the  truck  and  the  omnibus, 
had  a bristling  and  inextricable  appearance.  A gap, 
sufficiently  wide  for  one  man  to  pass,  was  left  be- 
tween the  house-wall  and  the  end  of  the  barricade 
farthest  from  the  mne-shop,  so  that  a sortie  was 
possible.  The  pole  of  the  omnibus  was  held  upright 
by  ropes,  and  a red  flag  fixed  to  this  pole  floated 
over  the  barricade.  The  small  iMond^tour  barricade, 
concealed  behind  the  wine-shop,  could  not  be  seen, 
but  the  two  barricades  combined  fonned  a real  re- 
doubt. Enjolras  aud  Courfeyrac  had  not  thought  it 
ad\dsable  to  barricade  the  other  portion  of  the  Rue 


430 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


Mond6tour,  which  opens  on  to  the  Halles,  as  they 
doubtless  wished  to  maintain  a possible  communi- 
cation with  the  outside,  and  had  but  little  fear  of 
being  attacked  by  the  difficult  and  dangerous  Rue 
des  Precheurs.  With  the  exception  of  this  issue 
left  free,  which  constituted  what  Folard  would  have 
called  in  a strategic  style  a boyaii,  and  of  the  narrow 
passage  in  the  Rue  de  la  Chanvrerie,  the  interior  of 
the  barricade,  in  which  the  wine-shop  formed  a 
salient  angle,  presented  an  irregular  quadrilateral 
enclosed  on  all  sides.  There  was  a space  of  twenty 
yards  between  the  great  barricade  and  the  tall  houses 
which  formed  the  end  of  the  street,  so  that  it  might 
be  said  that  the  barricade  leaned  against  these 
houses,  which  were  all  inhabited,  but  closed  from 
top  to  bottom. 

All  this  labor  was  completed  without  any  obstacle, 
in  less  than  an  hour,  during  which  this  handful  of 
men  had  not  seen  a single  bearskin-cap  or  bayonet. 
The  few  citizens  who  still  ventured  at  this  moment 
of  riot  into  the  Rue  St.  Denis  took  a glance  into  the 
Rue  de  la  Chanvrerie,  perceived  the  barricade,  and 
doubled  their  pace.  When  the  two  barricades  were 
completed  and  the  flag  was  hoisted,  a table  was 
pulled  from  the  wine-shop  into  the  street,  and 
Courfeyrac  got  upon  it.  Enjolras  brought  up  the 
square  chest,  which  Courfeyrac  opened,  and  it  proved 
to  be  full  of  cartridges.  When  they  saw  these 
cartridges  the  bravest  trembled,  and  there  was  a 
moment’s  silence.  Courfeyrac  distributed  the  car- 
tridges smilingly,  and  each  received  thirty ; many 
had  powder,  and  began  making  others  with  the 


PREPARATIONS. 


431 


bullets  which  had  been  cast ; as  for  the  powder 
barrel,  it  was  on  a separate  table,  near  the  door,  and 
was  held  in  reserve.  The  drum-beat  call  to  arms, 
which  was  traversing  the  whole  of  Paris,  did  not 
cease,  but  in  the  end  it  had  become  a monotonous 
sound,  to  which  they  no  longer  paid  any  attention. 
This  noise  at  one  moment  retired,  at  another  came 
nearer,  A^dth  lugubrious  undulations.  The  guns  and 
carbines  were  loaded  all  together,  mthout  precipi- 
tation and  with  a solemn  gra^dty.  Eujolras  then 
stationed  three  sentries  outside  the  barricades,  one 
in  the  Rue  de  la  ChamTerie,  the  second  in  the  Rue 
des  Precheins,  the  third  at  the  corner  of  the  Petite 
Truanderie.  Then,  when  the  barricades  were  built, 
the  posts  assigned,  the  guns  loaded,  the  sentries  set, 
the  insurgents  alone  in  these  formidable  streets, 
through  Avhich  no  one  now  passed,  surrounded  by 
dumb  and,  as  it  were,  dead  houses,  in  which  no 
human  movement  palpitated,  enveloped  in  the  men- 
acing darkness,  in  the  midst  of  that  silence  and  ob- 
scurity in  which  they  felt  something  advancing,  and 
which  had  something  tragical  and  terrifying  about  it, 
isolated,  armed,  determined,  and  tranquil  — waited. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


WAITING. 

During  the  hours  of  waiting,  what  did  they  do  ? 
We  are  bound  to  tell  it,  because  this  is  historical. 

While  the  men  were  making  cartridges  and  the 
women  lint,  while  a large  stewpan  full  of  melted 
tin  and  lead,  intended  for  the  bullet-mould,  was 
smoking  on  a red-hot  chafing-dish,  while  the  vedettes 
W'ere  watching  with  shouldered  guns  on  the  barri- 
cade, while  Enjolras,  whom  it  was  impossible  to  dis- 
tract, watched  the  vedettes,  Combeferre,  Coui’feyrac, 
Jean  Prouvaire,  Feuilly,  Bossuet,  Joly,  Bahorel,  and 
a few  others,  assembled,  as  in  the  most  peaceful  days 
of  their  student  conversations,  and  in  one  corner  of 
the  wine-shop  converted  into  a casemate,  two  paces 
from  the  barricade  which  they  had  raised,  and  with 
their  loaded  and  primed  muskets  leaning  against  the 
back  of  their  chairs,  — these  fine  young  men,  so  near 
their  last  hour,  wrote  love  verses. 

What  verses  ? Here  they  are  : — 

Do  you  remember  those  days  gone  by. 

Our  youth’s  high  spring-tide  ? The  sweet  glad  spell 
Held  us  a season,  when  you  and  I 
Lived  but  to  love  and  to  look  well  ? 


WAITING. 


433 


Then  all  your  years  together  with  mine 
Would  not  make  two-score  when  all  was  said; 
Our  nest  it  was  so  cosy  and  line, 

Spring  hid  within  till  Winter  had  fled. 

What  days  ! Manuel,  how  lofty,  how  chaste  ! 

Paris,  turned  godly,  would  be  improved. 

And  how  Foy  thundered  — and  in  your  waist 
Was  a pin,  that  pricked  when  my  fingers  roved  ! 

All  eyes  looked  your  way.  At  Prado’s  where 
Your  briefless  barrister  dined  with  you, 

You  were  so  pretty,  the  roses  there 
Turned  and  eyed  you,  in  envy  too. 

I seemed  to  hear  them  whisper,  “ How  fair  ! 

What  wealth  of  ringlets,  what  rich  perfume  ! 
They  are  wings  she  hides  ’neath  her  mantle  there; 
Her  bonnet ’s  a blossom  all  a-bloom  ! ” 

Arm  linked  in  arm,  together  we  strayed ; 

Passers  thought,  as  we  went  our  way. 
Light-hearted  Cupid  a match  had  made 
’Twixt  tender  April  and  gallant  May. 

We  lived  so  merrily  hidden  away. 

Feeding  on  Love’s  dear  forbidden  fruit. 

Swifter  than  aught  that  my  lips  could  say 

Your  heart  replied,  when  your  lips  were  mute. 

In  the  Sorbonne ’t  was,  that  idyllic  spot, 

I dreamed  of  you  through  the  long  night-hours. 
’T  is  tlius  a youthful  lover  self-taught 
In  the  Latin  Quarter  sights  Love-land’s  towers. 

VOL.  IV.  28 


434 


THE  EUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


0 Place  Manbert ! 0 Place  Dauphiue  ! 

Dear  sky-built  palace-attic  where 

You  drew  yoixr  stocking  on,  unseen  — 

I gazed  at  a star  in  the  ceiling  there ! 

Lamennais,  Malebranche,  forgotten  they, 

And  Plato  too,  mastered  so  carefully  ; 

But  I fathomed  God’s  Infinite  Love  one  day 
In  a flower,  — the  flower  you  gave  to  me. 

1 was  your  slave.  You  my  subject  were. 

0 golden  attic  ! to  watch  you  pass 

Back  and  forth,  dressing,  at  daybreak  there, 

Your  girl’s  face  smiling  from  that  old  glass! 

0 golden  dawn ! 0 golden  days  ! 

Who  can  outlive  them,  forget  them  wholly  ? 

The  ribbons  too,  flowers  and  gauze  and  lace, 
Wherein  Love  stammered  its  first  sweet  folly. 

Our  garden,  — a tulip-pot  held  the  whole  ! 

Your  petticoat  curtained  the  window-pane; 

1 kept  for  myself  the  earthen-ware  bowl. 

And  gave  you  the  cup  of  porcelain. 

And  such  mishaps  too,  for  mirth  and  woe  ! 

Your  muff  had  caught  fire,  your  tippet  was  gone 
And  that  portrait  of  Shakespeare  we  valued  so 
Sold  for  a song  — to  be  supped  upon. 

I ’d  beg  and  you  would  your  alms  bestow, 

A kiss  from  your  fair  round  arm  I ’d  steal. 

Our  board  was  that  Dante  in  folio. 

And  a hundred  chestnuts  our  humble  meal. 


WAITING. 


435 


And  that  one  moment,  and  all  its  joy 

When  your  lips  met  mine  and  the  first  kiss  given, 
You  fled,  dishevelled  and  rosy  and  coy  ; 

I grew  quite  pale  and  believed  in  Heaven  ! 

Do  you  remember  our  countless  joys  ? 

Those  neckerchiefs  rumpled  ? ah,  well-a-day  ! 

And  now  from  heavier  hearts  what  sighs 
To  skies  all  darkened  are  borne  away  ! 

The  hour,  the  spot,  the  recollections  of  youth  re- 
called, a few  stars  which  were  beginning  to  glisten  in 
the  sky,  the  funereal  repose  of  these  deserted  streets, 
the  imminence  of  the  inexorable  adventure  wliich 
was  preparing,  gave  a pathetic  charm  to  these  verses 
murmured  in  a low  voice  in  the  twiliglit  by  Jean 
Prouvaire,  who,  as  we  said,  was  a gentle  poet. 

In  the  mean  while  a lamp  had  been  lit  on  the 
small  barricade,  and  on  the  large  one,  one  of  those 
wax  torches  such  as  may  be  seen  on  Shrove  Tuesday 
in  front  of  the  vehicles  crowded  with  masks  that 
are  proceeding  to  the  Courtille.  These  torches,  we 
know,  came  from  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine.  The 
torch  was  placed  in  a species  of  lantern  of  paving- 
stones  closed  on  three  sides  to  protect  it  from  the 
wind,  and  arranged  so  that  the  entire  light  should 
fall  on  the  flag.  The  street  and  the  barricade  re- 
mained plunged  in  darkness,  and  nothing  was  visible 
save  the  red  flag  formidably  illumined,  as  if  by  an 
enormous  dark-lanteni.  This  light  added  a strange 
and  terrible  purple  to  the  scarlet  of  the  flag. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


THE  RECRUIT  OF  THE  RUE  DES  BILLETTES. 

Night  had  quite  set  in,  and  nothing  occurred, 
only  confused  rumors  and  fusillades  now  and  then 
could  be  heard,  but  they  were  rare,  badly  maintained, 
and  distant.  This  respite,  which  was  prolonged,  was 
a sign  that  the  Government  was  taking  its  time  and 
collecting  its  strength.  These  fifty  men  were  waiting 
for  the  coming  of  sixty  thousand.  Enjolras  was  at- 
tacked by  that  impatience  which  seizes  on  powerful 
minds  when  they  stand  on  the  threshold  of  formid- 
able events.  He  looked  up  Gavroche,  who  was  busy 
manufacturing  cartridges  in  the  ground-floor  room  by 
the  dubious  light  of  two  candles  placed  on  the  bar 
for  precaution,  on  account  of  the  gunpoivder  sprinkled 
over  the  tables.  These  two  candles  threw  no  rays 
outside,  and  the  insurgents  allowed  no  light  in  the 
upper  floors.  Gavroche  was  at  this  moment  greatly 
occupied,  though  not  precisely  with  his  cartridge. 

The  recruit  from  the  Rue  des  Billettes  had  come 
into  the  room  and  seated  himself  at  the  least- 
lighted  table.  A Brown  Bess  of  the  large  model  had 
fallen  to  his  share,  and  he  held  it  between  his  legs. 
Gavroche  up  to  this  moment,  distracted  by  a hun- 
dred “ amusing  ” things,  had  not  even  seen  this  man. 


THE  EECRUIT  OF  THE  RUE  DES  BILLETTES.  437 

AVheu  he  entered,  Gavroche  looked  after  him,  me- 
chanically admiring  his  musket,  but  when  the  man 
Avas  seated  the  gamin  suddenly  rose.  Those  Avho 
might  haA'e  AAatched  this  man  would  have  noticed 
him  observe  everything  in  the  barricade,  and  the 
band  of  insurgents  with  singular  attention  ; but  when 
he  entered  the  room  he  fell  into  a state  of  contem- 
jdation,  and  seemed  to  see  nothing  of  what  was 
going  on.  The  gamin  apjDroached  this  pensive  man, 
and  began  Avalking  round  him  on  tiptoe,  in  the  same 
Avay  as  people  move  round  a man  whom  they  are 
afraid  of  awaking.  At  the  same  time  all  the  grim- 
aces of  an  old  man  passed  over  his  childish  face,  at 
once  so  impudent  and  so  serious,  so  giddy  and  so 
profound,  so  gay  and  so  affecting,  and  these  grimaces 
signified,  “Oh,  stuff!  it  is  not  possible,  I must  see 
double  — I am  dreaming  — can  it  be?  — no,  it  is 
not  — yes,  it  is  — no,  it  is  not.”  Gavroche  balanced 
himself  on  his  heels,  clenched  his  fists  in  his  pockets, 
moved  his  neck  like  a bird,  and  expended  on  an 
enormously  outstretched  lip  all  the  sagacity  of  a lower 
lip.  He  was  stupefied,  uncertain,  coiiA'inced,  and 
dazzled.  He  had  the  look  of  the  chief  of  the  eunuchs 
at  the  slave-market  discovering  a Venus  among  the 
girls,  and  the  air  of  an  amateur  recognizing  a Raphael 
in  a pile  of  daubs.  All  about  him  Avas  at  Avork  the 
instinct  that  scents  and  the  intellect  that  combines; 
it  Avas  plain  that  an  event  was  happening  to  Gavroche. 
It  was  when  he  Avas  deepest  in  thought  that  Enjolras 
accosted  him. 

“ You  are  little,”  he  said,  “ and  Avill  not  be  seen. 
Go  out  of  the  barricades,  slip  along  the  houses,  pass 


438 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


through  as  many  streets  as  you  can,  and  come  back 
to  tell  me  what  is  going  on.” 

Gavroche  drew  himself  up. 

“ So  little  ones  are  good  for  something ! That ’s 
lucky ! I ’m  off.  In  the  mean  while,  trust  to  the 
little  and  distrust  the  big ; ” and  Gavroche,  raising  his 
head  and  dropping  his  voice,  added,  as  he  pointed  to 
the  man  of  the  Rue  des  Billettes,  — 

“ Yon  see  that  tall  fellow  ? ” 

“ Well  ? ” 

“ He ’s  a spy.” 

“ Are  you  sure  ? ” 

“ Not  a fortnight  back  he  pulled  me  down  by  the 
ear  from  the  cornice  of  the  Pont  Royal  where  I was 
taking  the  air.” 

Enjolras  hurriedly  left  the  gamin  and  whispered  a 
few  words  to  a laborer  from  the  wine-docks  who  was 
present.  The  laborer  went  out  and  returned  almost 
immediately,  followed  by  three  others.  The  four 
men,  four  broad-shouldered  porters,  stationed  them- 
selves silently  behind  the  table  at  which  the  man  of 
the  Rue  des  Billettes  was  seated,  in  evident  readiness 
to  fall  upon  him,  and  then  Enjolras  walked  up  to 
the  man  and  asked  him, — 

“ Who  are  you  ? ” 

At  this  sudden  question  the  man  started ; he  looked 
into  the  depths  of  Enjolras’s  candid  eyeballs,  and 
seemed  to  read  his  thoughts.  He  gave  a smile, 
which  was  at  once  the  most  disdainful,  energetic, 
and  resolute  possible,  and  answered,  with  a haughty 
gravity,  — 

1 see  what  you  mean,  — well,  yes  ! ” 


THE  RECRUIT  OF  THE  RUE  DES  BILLETTES.  439 


“ Are  you  a spy  ? ” 

“ I am  an  agent  of  the  authority  ! ” 

“ And  your  name  is  — ” 

“ Javert.” 

Enjolras  gave  the  four  men  a sign,  and  in  a twink- 
ling, before  Javert  had  time  to  tm-n  round,  he  was 
collared,  thrown  down,  bound,  and  searched.  They 
found  on  him  a small  round  card  fixed  between  two 
pieces  of  glass,  and  bearing  on  one  side  the  arms  of 
France,  with  the  motto,  “ Surveillance  and  vigilance,” 
and  on  the  other  this  notice,  “ Javert,  Police  Inspec- 
tor, fifty-two  years  of  age,”  and  the  signature  of  the 
Prefect  of  Police  of  that  day,  M.  Gisquet.  He  had 
also  a watch,  and  a purse  containing  some  pieces  of 
gold,  and  both  were  left  him.  Behind  his  watch  at 
the  bottom  of  his  fob  a paper  was  found,  which 
Enjolras  unfolded,  and  on  which  he  read  these  lines, 
written  by  the  Prefect  of  Police  himself : — 

“ So  soon  as  his  political  mission  is  concluded, 
Javert  will  assure  himself  by  a special  watch  wheth- 
er it  is  true  that  criminals  assemble  on  the  slope 
of  the  right  bank  of  the  Seine,  near  the  bridge  of 
Jena.” 

When  the  search  was  ended,  Javert  was  raised 
from  the  ground,  his  arms  were  tied  behind  his  back, 
and  he  was  fastened  in  the  middle  of  the  room  to 
the  celebrated  post  which  in  olden  times  gave  its 
name  to  the  wine-shop.  Gavroche,  who  had  watched 
the  whole  scene  and  approved  of  everything  vdth  a 
silent  shake  of  the  head,  went  up  to  Javert,  and 
said,  — 

“ The  mouse  has  trapped  the  cat.” 


440 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


All  this  took  place  so  quickly  that  it  was  com- 
pleted before  those  outside  the  wine-shop  were  aware 
of  it.  Javert  had  not  uttered  a cry,  but  on  see- 
ing him  fastened  to  the  post,  Courfeyrac,  Bossuet, 
Combeferre,  Joly,  and  the  men  scattered  over  the 
two  barricades,  flocked  in.  Javert,  who  was  sur- 
rounded with  cords  so»that  he  could  not  stir,  raised 
his  head  with  the  intrepid  serenity  of  a man  who 
has  never  told  a falsehood, 

“It  is  a spy,”  said  Enjolras;  and  turning  to  Javert, 
“ You  will  be  shot  two  minutes  before  the  barricade 
is  taken.” 

Javert  replied,  with  his  most  imperious  accent,  — 
“ Why  not  at  once  ? ” 

“ We  are  saving  of  powder.” 

“ Then  settle  the  affair  with  a knife.” 

“ Spy,”  said  the  beautiful  Enjolras,  “ we  are 
judges,  and  not  assassins,” 

Then  he  called  Gavroche. 

“ You  be  off  now  and  do  what  I told  you,” 

“ I aiu  off,”  Gavi-oche  cried,  but  stopped  just  as  he 
reached  the  door, 

“ By  the  way,  you  Avill  give  me  his  gun.  I leave 
you  the  musician,  but  I want  his  clarinet.” 

The  gamin  gave  a military  salute,  and  gayly  slipped 
round  the  large  barricade. 


CHAPTER  VIIL 


WAS  HIS  NAME  LE  CABUO  ? 

The  tragical  picture  we  have  undertaken  would 
not  be  complete,  the  reader  would  not  see  in  their 
exact  and  real  relief  those  great  moments  of  social 
lying-in  and  revolutionary  giving  birth,  in  which 
there  are  throes  blended  with  effort,  if  we  were  to 
omit  in  our  sketch  an  incident  full  of  an  epic  and 
stern  horror,  which  occurred  almost  immediately 
after  Gawoche’s  departure. 

Bands  of  rioters,  it  is  well  known,  resemble  a 
snowball,  and,  as  they  roll  along,  agglomerate  many 
tumultuous  men,  who  do  not  ask  one  another  whence 
they  come.  Among  the  passers-by  who  joined  the 
band  led  by  Enjolras,  Combeferre,  and  Courfeyrac, 
there  was  a man  wearing  a porter’s  jacket,  much 
worn  at  the  shoulders,  who  gesticulated  and  vocif- 
erated, and  had  the  appearance  of  a drunken  savage. ' 
This  man,  whose  name  or  nickname  was  Le  Cabuc, 
and  who  was  entirely  unknown  to  those  wlio  pre- 
tended to  know  him,  was  seated,  in  a state  of  real  or 
feigned  intoxication,  with  four  others,  round  a table 
which  they  had  dragged  out  of  the  wine-shop.  This 
Cabuc,  while  making  the  others  drink,  seemed  to  be 
gazing  thoughtfully  at  the  large  house  behind  the 


442 


THE  KUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


barricade,  whose  five  stories  commanded  the  whole 
street  and  faced  the  Rue  St.  Denis.  All  at  once  he 
exclaimed,  — 

“Do  you  know  what,  comrades?  We  must  fire 
from  that  house.  When  we  are  at  tlie  windows, 
hang  me  if  any  one  can  come  up  the  street.” 

“ Yes,  but  the  house  is  closed,”  said  one  of  the 
drinkers. 

“ We  11  knock.” 

“ They  won’t  open.” 

“ Then  we  ’ll  break  in  the  door.” 

Le  Cabuc  ran  up  to  the  door,  Avhich  had  a very 
massive  knocker,  and  rapped ; as  the  door  was  not 
opened  he  rapped  again,  and  no  one  answering,  he 
gave  a third  rap,  but  the  silence  continued. 

“ Is  there  any  oue  in  here  ? ” Le  Cabuc  shouted. 
But  nothing  stirred,  and  so  he  seized  a musket  and 
began  hammering  the  door  with  the  butt  end.  It  was 
an  old,  low,  narrow,  solid  door,  made  of  oak,  lined 
with  sheet  iron  inside  and  a heavy  bar,  and  a thorough 
postern  gate.  The  blows  made  the  whole  house 
tremble,  but  did  not  shake  the  door.  The  inmates, 
however,  were  probably  alarmed,  for  a little  square 
trap  window  was  at  length  lit  up  and  opened  on 
the  third  story,  and  a candle  and  the  gray-haired 
head  of  a terrified  old  man,  who  was  the  porter, 
appeared  in  the  orifice.  The  man  who  was  knocking 
left  off. 

“ What  do  you  want,  gentlemen  ? ” the  porter 
asked. 

“ Open  the  door  ! ” said  Le  Cabuc. 

“ I cannot,  gentlemen.” 


WAS  HIS  NAME  LE  CABUC  ? 


443 


“ Open,  I tell  you  ! ” 

“ It  is  impossible,  gentlemen.” 

Le  Cabuc  raised  his  musket  and  took  aim  at  the 
porter,  but  as  he  was  below  and  it  was  very  dark  the 
porter  did  not  notice  the  fact. 

“ Will  you  open  ? Yes  or  no.” 

“ No,  gentlemen.” 

“ You  really  mean  it  ? ” 

“ I say  no,  my  kind  — ” 

The  porter  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  for  the 
musket  was  fired  ; the  bullet  entered  under  his  chin 
and  came  out  of  his  neck,  after  passing  through  the 
jugular  vein.  The  old  man  fell  in  a heap,  without 
hea\'ing  a sigh,  the  candle  went  out,  and  nothing  was 
visible  save  a motionless  head  lying  on  the  sill  of  the 
window,  and  a small  wreath  of  smoke  ascending  to 
the  roof. 

“ There,”  said  Le  Cabuc,  as  he  let  the  butt  of  the 
musket  fall  on  the  pavement  again. 

He  had  scarce  uttered  the  word  ere  he  felt  a hand 
laid  on  his  shoulder  with  the  tenacity  of  an  eagle’s 
talon,  and  he  heard  a voice  saying  to  him,  — 

“ On  your  knees  ! ” 

The  murderer  turned,  and  saw  before  him  Enjolras’s 
white,  cold  face.  Enjolras  held  a pistol  in  his  hand, 
and  had  hurried  up  on  hearing  the  shot  fired,  and 
clutched  with  his  left  hand  Le  Cabuc’s  blouse,  shirt, 
and  braces. 

“ On  your  kiiees  ! ” he  repeated. 

And  with  a sovereign  movement  the  frail  young 
man  of  twenty  bent  like  a reed  the  muscular  and 
thick-set  porter,  and  forced  him  to  kneel  in  the  mud. 


444 


THE  HUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


Le  Cabuc  tried  to  resist,  but  he  seemed  to  have  been 
seized  by  a superhuman  hand.  Enjolras,  pale,  bare- 
neck,  witli  his  dishevelled  hair  and  feminine  face, 
had  at  this  moment  I know  not  what  of  the  ancient 
Themis.  His  dilated  nostrils,  his  downcast  eyes, 
(?ave  to  his  implacable  Greek  profile  that  expression  of 
wrath  and  tliat  expression  of  chastity  which,  in  the 
opinion  of  the  old  world,  are  becoming  to  justice. 
All  the  insurgents  had  hurried  up,  and  then  ranged 
themselves  in  a circle  at  a distance,  feeling  that  it  was 
impossible  for  them  to  utter  a word  in  the  pi’esence 
of  what  they  were  going  to  see.  Le  Cabuc,  con- 
quered, no  longer  attempted  to  struggle,  and  trembled 
all  over  : Enjolras  loosed  his  grasp,  and  took  out  his 
watch. 

“ Pray  or  think  ! ” he  said  ; “ you  have  one  minute 
to  do  so.” 

“ Mercy  ! ” the  murderer  stammered,  then  hung  his 
head  and  muttered  a few  inarticulate  execrations. 

Enjolras  did  not  take  his  eyes  off  the  watch ; he 
let  the  minute  pass,  and  then  put  the  watch  again 
in  his  fob.  This  done,  he  seized  Le  Cabuc  by 
the  hair,  wlio  clung  to  his  knees  with  a yell,  and 
placed  the  muzzle  of  the  pistol  to  his  ear.  Many 
of  these  intrepid  men,  who  had  so  tranquilly  entered 
upon  the  most  frightful  of  adventures,  turned  away 
their  heads.  The  explosion  was  heard,  the  assassin 
fell  on  his  head  on  the  pavement,  and  Enjolras 
drew  himself  up  and  looked  round  him  with  a 
stern  air  of  conviction.  Then  he  kicked  the  corpse 
and  said, — 

“ Throw  this  outside.” 


WAS  HIS  NAME  LE  CABUC  ? 


445 


Three  men  raised  the  body  of  the  wretch,  which 
was  still  writhing  in  the  last  mechanical  convulsions 
of  expiring  life,  and  threw  it  over  the  small  bariicade 
into  the  Mond^tour 'lane.  Enjolras  stood  pensive; 
some  grand  darkness  was  slowly  spreading  over  his 
formidable  serenity.  Presently  he  raised  his  voice, 
and  all  were  silent. 

“ Citizens,”  said  Enjolras,  “ what  that  man  did  is 
frightful,  and  what  I have  done  is  horrible  ; he  killed, 
and  that  is  why  I killed,  and  I was  obliged  to  do  so, 
as  insurrection  must  have  its  discipline.  Assassina- 
tion is  even  more  of  a crime  here  than  elsewhere,  for 
we  stand  under  the  eye  of  the  Revolution,  we  are 
the  priests  of  the  Republic,  we  are  the  sacred  victims 
to  duty,  and  we  must  not  do  aught  that  would  ca- 
lumniate our  combat,  I,  therefore,  tried  and  con- 
demned this  man  to  death  ; for  my  part,  constrained 
to  do  what  I have  done,  but  abhorring  it,  I have  also 
tried  myself,  and  you  will  shortly  see  what  sentence 
I have  passed.” 

All  who  listened  trembled. 

“ We  will  share  your  fate,”  Combeferre  exclaimed. 

“ Be  it  so  ! ” Enjolras  continued.  “ One  word 
more.  In  executing  that  man  I obeyed  Necessity ; 
but  Necessity  is  a monster  of  the  old  world,  and  its 
true  name  is  Fatality.  Now,  it  is  the  law  of  progress 
that  monsters  should  disappear  before  angels,  and 
Fatality  vanish  before  Fraternity.  It  is  a bad  mo- 
ment to  utter  the  word  love ; but  no  matter,  I utter 
it,  and  I glorify  it.  Love,  thou  hast  a future  ; Death, 
I make  use  of  thee,  but  I abhor  thee.  Citizens,  in 
the  future  there  will  be  no  darkness,  no  thunder- 


446 


THE  EDE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


claps ; neither  ferocious  ignorance  nor  bloodthirsty 
retaliation  ; and  as  there  will  be  no  Satan  left,  there 
will  be  no  Saint  Michael.  In  the  future  no  man  will 
kill  another  man ; the  earth  will  be  radiant,  and  the 
human  race  will  love.  The  day  will  come,  citizens, 
when  all  will  be  concord,  harmony,  light,  joy,  and 
life,  and  we  are  going  to  die  in  order  that  it  may 
come.” 

Enjolras  was  silent,  his  virgin  lips  closed,  and  he 
stood  for  some  time  at  the  spot  where  he  had  shed 
blood,  in  the  motionlessness  of  a marble  statue. 
His  fixed  eyes  caused  people  to  talk  in  whispers 
around  him.  Jean  Prouvaire  and  Combeferre  shook 
their  heads  silently,  and  leaning  against  each  other 
in  an  angle  of  the  barricade,  gazed,  with  an  admira- 
tion in  which  there  was  compassion,  at  this  grave 
young  man,  who  was  an  executioner  and  priest,  and 
had,  at  the  same  time,  the  light  and  the  hardness  of 
crystal.  Let  us  say  at  once,  that  after  the  action, 
when  the  corpses  were  conveyed  to  the  IMorgue  and 
searched,  a police-agent’s  card  was  found  on  Le 
Cabuc ; the  author  of  this  work  had  in  his  hands, 
in  1848,  the  special  report  on  this  subject  made  to 
the  Prefect  of  Police  in  1832.  Let  us  add  that,  if 
we  may  believe  a strange  but  probably  well-founded 
police  tradition,  Le  Cabuc  was  Claquesous.  It  is 
certainly  true  that  after  the  death  of  Cabuc,  Claque- 
sous was  never  heard  of  again,  and  left  no  trace 
of  his  disappearance.  He  seemed  to  have  become 
amalgamated  with  the  in%’isible ; his  life  had  been 
gloom,  and  his  end  was  night. 

The  whole  insurgent  band  were  still  suffering  from 


WAS  HIS  NAME  LE  CABUC  ? 


447 


the  emotion  of  this  tragical  trial,  so  quickly  begun 
and  so  quickly  ended,  when  Courfeyrac  saw  again  at 
the  barricade  the  short  young  man  who  had  come  to 
his  lodgings  to  ask  for  Marius ; this  lad,  who  had  a 
bold  and  I’eckless  look,  had  come  at  night  to  rejoin 
the  insurgents. 


MARIUS  ENTERS  THE  SHADOW. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PROM  THE  RUE  PLUMET  TO  THE  QUARTIER  ST. 

DENIS. 

The  voice  which  siininioned  Marius  through  the 
twilight  to  the  barricade  in  the  Rue  de  la  Chanvrerie 
had  produced  on  him  the  effect  of  the  voice  of  des- 
tiny. He  wished  to  die,  and  the  opportunity  offered ; 
he  rapped  at  the  door  of  the  tomb,  and  a hand  held 
out  the  key  to  him  from  the  shadows.  Such  gloomy 
openings  in  the  darkness  just  in  front  of  despair  are 
tempting ; Marius  removed  the  bar  which  had  so 
often  allowed  him  to  pass,  left  the  garden,  and  said, 
“ I will  go."  Mad  with  grief,  feeling  nothing  fixed 
and  solid  in  his  brain,  incapable  of  accepting  any- 
thing henceforth  of  destiny,  after  the  two  months 
spent  in  the  intoxication  of  youth  and  love,  and 
crushed  by  all  the  reveries  of  despair  at  once,  he  had 
only  one  wish  left,  — to  finish  with  it  all  at  once. 
He  began  walking  rapidly,  and  he  happened  to  be 
armed,  as  he  had  Javert’s  pistols  in  his  pocket.  LThe 
young  man  whom  he  fancied  that  he  had  seen  had 
got  out  of  his  sight  in  the  streets. 


FROM  RUE  PLUMET  TO  QUARTIER  ST.  DENIS.  449 

Marius,  who  left  the  Rue  Plumet  by  the  boule- 
vard, crossed  the  esplanade  and  bridge  of  the  luva- 
lides,  the  Champs  Elysees,  tlie  square  of  Louis  XV., 
and  reached  the  Rue  de  Rivoli.  The  shops  were 
open  tiiere,  the  gas  blazed  under  the  arcades,  ladies 
were  making  purchases,  and  people  were  eating  ices 
at  the  Cafe  Laiter  and  cakes  at  the  English  pastry- 
cook’s. A few  post-cliaises,  however,  were  lea^^ng 
at  a gallop  the  Hotel  des  Princes  and  Meurice’s. 
Marius  entered  the  Rue  St.  Honore  by  the  passage 
Delorme.  The  shops  were  closed  there,  the  trades- 
men were  conversing  before  their  open  doors,  people 
walked  along,  the  lamps  were  lighted,  and  from  the 
first-floor  upwards  the  houses  were  illumined  as 
usual.  Cavalry  were  stationed  on  the  square  of  the 
Palais  Royal.  Marius  followed  the  Rue  St.  Honore, 
and  the  farther  he  got  from  the  Palais  Royal  the 
fewer  windows  were  lit  up  ; the  shops  were  entirely 
closed,  nobody  was  conversing  on  the  thresholds,  the 
street  grew  darker,  and  at  the  same  time  the  crowd 
denser,  for  the  passers-by  had  now  become  a crowd. 
Xo  one  could  be  heard  speaking  in  the  crowd,  and 
yet  a hollow,  deep  buzzing  issued  from  it.  Xear  the 
Fountain  of  Arbre  Sec  there  were  motionless  mobs, 
and  sombre  groups  standing  among  the  comers  and 
goers  like  stones  in  the  middle  of  a running  stream. 
At  the  entrance  of  the  Rue  des  Prouvaires,  the  crowd 
no  longer  moved ; it  was  a resisting,  solid,  compact, 
almost  impenetrable  mob  of  persons  packed  together 
and  conversing  in  a low  voice.  There  were  hardly 
any  black  coats  or  round  hats  present,  only  fustian 
jackets,  blouses,  caps,  and  bristling  beards.  This 

VOL.  IV.  29 


450 


THE  HUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


multitude  undulated  confusedly  in  the  night  mist, 
and  its  whispering  had  the  hoarse  accent  of  a rust- 
ling ; and  though  no  one  moved,  a tramping  in  the 
mud  could  be  heard.  Beyond  this  dense  crowd 
there  was  not  a window  lit  up  in  the  surraunding 
streets,  and  the  solitary  and  decreasing  rows  of  lan- 
terns could  only  be  seen  in  them.  The  street-lanterns 
of  that  day  resembled  large  red  stars  suspended 
from  ropes,  and  cast  on  to  the  pavement  a shadow 
which  had  the  shape  of  a large  spider.  These 
streets,  however,  were  not  deserted,  and  piled  mus- 
kets, moving  bayonets,  and  troops  bivouacking  could 
be  distinguished  in  them.  No  curious  person  went 
beyond  this  limit,  and  circulation  ceased  there ; there 
the  mob  ended  and  the  army  began. 

IMarius  wished  with  the  will  of  a man  who  no 
longer  hopes ; he  had  been  summoned  and  was 
bound  to  go.  He  found  means  to  traverse  the 
crowd  and  bivouacking  troops ; he  hid  himself  from 
the  patrols  and  avoided  the  sentries.  He  made  a 
circuit,  came  to  the  Rue  de  Bethisy,  and  proceeded 
in  the  direction  of  the  markets  ; at  the  corner  of  the 
Rue  des  Bourdonnais  the  lanterns  ceased.  After 
crossing  the  zone  of  the  mob  he  passed  the  border  of 
troops,  and  now  found  himself  in  something  fright- 
ful. There  was  not  a wayfarer,  nor  a soldier,  nor  a 
light,  nothing  but  solitude,  silence,  and  night,  and  a 
strangely-piercing  cold;  entering  a street  was  like 
entering  a cellar.  Still  he  continued  to  advanc^ 
Some  one  ran  close  past  him  ; was  it  a man  ? — 
a woman  ? Were  there  more  than  one  ? He 
could  not  have  said,  for  it  had  passed  and  vanished. 


FROM  RUE  PLUMET  TO  QU ARTIER  ST.  DENIS.  451 


By  constant  circuits  he  reached  a lane,  which  he 
judged  to  be  the  Rue  de  la  Poterie,  and  toward  the 
middle  of  that  lane  came  across  an  obstacle.  He 
stretched  out  his  hands  and  found  that  it  was  an 
overturned  cart,  and  his  feet  recognized  pools  of 
water,  holes,  scattered  and  piled-up  paving-stones ; it 
was  a barricade  which  had  been  begun  and  then  aban- 
doned. He  clambered  over  the  stones  and  soon 
found  himself  on  the  other  side  of  the  obstacle  ; he 
walked  very  close  to  the  posts,  and  felt  his  way 


along  the  house 


beyond  the  bar- 


ricade he  fancied  that  he  could  see  something  white 
before  him,  and  on  drawing  nearer  it  assumed  a form. 
It  was  a pair  of  white  horses,  the  omnibus  horses 
unharnessed  by  Bossuet  in  the  morning,  which  had 
wandered,  haphazard,  from  street  to  street  all  day, 
and  at  last  stopped  here,  with  the  stolid  patience  of 
animals  which  no  more  comprehend  the  actions  of 
man  than  man  comprehends  the  actions  of  Provi- 
dence. Marius  left  the  horses  behind  him,  and  as 
he  entered  a street  which  seemed  to  be  the  Rue  du 
Contrat  Social,  a musket-shot,  which  came  no  one 
could  say  whence,  and  traversed  the  darkness  at 
hazard,  whizzed  close  past  him,  and  pierced  above 
his  head  a copper  shaving-dish,  hanging  from  a hair- 
dresser’s shop.  In  1846  this  dish  with  the  hole  in 
it  was  still  visible  at  the  corner  of  the  pillars  of  the 
markets.  This  shot  was  still  life,  but  from  this  mo- 


ment nothing  further  occurred  the  whole  itinerary 


resembled  a descent  down  black  steps,  but  for  all 
that  Marius  did  not  the  less  advance. 


CHAPTER  II. 


AN  OWL’S-ETE  view  OF  PARIS. 

Ant  being  hovering  over  Paris  at  this  moment, 
Avith  the  wings  of  a bat  or  an  owl,  Avould  iiave  had 
a gloomy  spectacle  under  his  eyes.  The  entire  old 
district  of  the  markets,  which  is  like  a city  within  a 
city,  which  is  traversed  by  the  Rues  St.  Denis  and 
St.  Martin,  and  by  a thousand  lanes  which  the  insur- 
gents had  converted  into  their  redoubt  and  arsenal, 
would  have  appeared  like  an  enormous  black  hole 
dug  in  the  centre  of  Paris.  Here  the  eye  settled  on 
an  abyss,  and,  owing  to  the  broken  lamps  and  the 
closed  shutters,  all  brilliancy,  life,  noise,  and  move- 
ment had  ceased  in  it.  The  invisible  police  of  the 
revolt  were  watching  everyivhere  and  maintaining 
order,  that  is  to  say,  night.  To  hide  the  small  num- 
ber in  a vast  obscurity,  and  to  multiply  each  com- 
batant by  the  possibilities  which  this  obscurity 
contains,  this  is  the  necessary  tactics  of  insurrec- 
tion, and  at  nightfall  every  window  in  which  a candle 
gleamed  received  a bullet ; the  light  was  extin- 
guished, and  sometimes  the  oceupant  killed.  Hence, 
nothing  stirred ; there  was  nought  but  terror,  mourn- 
ing, and  stupor  in  the  houses,  and  in  the  streets  a 
sort  of  sacred  horror.  Not  even  the  long  rows  of 


AN  OWL’S-EYE  VIEW  OF  PARIS. 


453 


windows  and  floors,  the  network  of  chimneys  and  roofs, 
and  the  vague  reflections  which  glisten  on  the  muddy 
and  damp  pavement,  could  be  perceived.  The  eye 
which  had  looked  down  from  above  on  this  mass 
of  shadow  might  perhaps  have  noticed  here  and 
there  indistinct  gleams,  which  made  the  broken  and 
strange  lines,  and  the  profile  of  singular  buildings, 
stand  out,  something  like  flashes  flitting  through 
ruins  ; at  such  spots  -were  the  barricades.  The  rest 
was  a lake  of  darkness  and  mystery,  oppressive  and 
funereal,  above  which  motionless  and  mournful  ouk 
lines  rose,  — • the  Tow’er  of  St.  Jacques,  St.  Merry 
church,  and  two  or  three  other  of  those  grand 
edifices  of  which  man  makes  giants  and  night  phan- 
toms. All  around  this  deserted  and  alarming  laby- 
rinth, in  those  districts  where  the  circulation  of  Paris 
was  not  stopped,  and  where  a few  lamps  glistened, 
the  aerial  observer  'would  have  distinguished  the 
metallic  scintillation  of  bayonets,  the  dull  rolling  of 
artillery,  and  the  buzz  of  silent  battalions  wdiich  was 
augmented  every  moment ; it  was  a formidable  belt, 
slowly  contracting^  and  closing  in  on  the  revolt. 

The  invested  district  was  now  but  a species  of 
monstrous  cavern  ; everything  seemed  there  asleep  or 
motionless,  and,  as  we  have  seen,  each  of  the  streets 
by  ■which  it  could  be  approached  only  offered  dark- 
ness. It  was  a stern  darkness,  full  of  snares,  full  of 
unknown  and  formidable  collisions,  into  which  it  was 
terrifying  to  penetrate  and  horrible  to  remain,  where 
those  who  entered  shuddered  before  those  who 
awaited  them,  and  those  who  awaited  shuddered  be- 
fore those  who  were  about  to  come.  Invisible  com- 


454 


THE  HUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


batants  were  iutrenched  at  the  corner  of  every  street, 
like  sepulchral  traps  hidden  in  the  thickness  of  the 
night.  It  was  all  over ; no  other  light  could  be 
hoped  for  there  henceforth  save  the  flash  of  musketry, 
no  other  meeting  than  the  sudden  and  rapid  appari- 
tion of  death.  Where,  how,  when,  they  did  not 
know,  but  it  was  certain  and  ine^^table  : there,  in 
the  spot  marked  out  for  the  contest,  the  Government 
and  the  insurrection,  the  National  Guards  and  tlie 
popular  society,  the  bourgeoisie  and  the  rioters,  were 
about  to  grope  their  way  toward  one  another.  There 
was  the  same  necessity  for  both  sides,  and  the  only 
issue  henceforth  possible  was  to  be  killed  or  conquer. 
It  was  such  an  extreme  situation,  such  a powerful 
obscurity,  that  the  most  timid  felt  resolute  and  the 
most  daring  terrified.  On  both  sides,  however,  there 
was  equal  fury,  obstinacy,  and  determination  ; on  one 
side  advancing  was  death,  and  no  one  dreamed  of 
recoiling ; on  the  other,  remaining  was  death,  and 
no  one  thought  of  flying.  It  was  necessary  that  all 
should  be  over  by  the  morrow,  that  the  victory 
should  be  with  one  side  or  the  other,  and  the  in- 
surrection either  become  a revolution  or  a riot. 
The  Government  understood  this  as  well  as  the 
partisans,  and  the  smallest  tradesman  felt  it.  Hence 
came  an  agonizing  thought  with  the  impenetrable 
gloom  of  this  district,  where  all  was  about  to  be 
decided ; hence  came  a redoubled  anxiety  around 
this  silence,  whence  a catastrophe  was  going  to  issue. 
Only  one  sound  could  be  heard,  — a sound  as  heart- 
rending as  a death-rattle  and  as  menacing  as  a male- 
diction, the  tocsin  of  St.  Merry.  Nothing  could  be 


AN  OWL’S-EYE  VIEW  OF  PARIS. 


455 


so  chilling  as  the  clamor  of  this  distracted  and  despair- 
ing bell  as  it  lamented  in  the  darkness. 

As  often  happens,  nature  seemed  to  have  come  to 
an  understanding  with  what  men  were  going  to  do, 
and  nothing  deranged  the  mournful  harmonies  of  the 
whole  scene.  The  stars  had  disappeared,  and  heavy 
clouds  filled  the  entire  horizon  with  their  melancholy 
masses.  There  was  a black  sky  over  these  dead 
streets,  as  if  an  intense  pall  were  cast  over  the  im- 
mense tomb.  While  a thoroughly  political  battle 
was  preparing  on  the  same  site  which  had  already 
witnessed  so  many  revolutionary  events, — while  the 
youth,  the  secret  associations,  and  the  schools  in  the 
name  of  principles,  and  the  middle  classes  in  the  name 
of  interests,  were  coming  together  to  try  a final  fall, 
— while  everybody  was  hurrying  up  and  appealing  to 
the  last  and  decisive  hour  of  the  crisis,  in  the  dis- 
tance and  beyond  that  fatal  district,  at  the  lowest 
depths  of  the  unfathomable  cavities  of  that  old 
wretched  Paris  which  is  disappearing  under  the 
splendor  of  happy  and  opulent  Paris,  the  gloomy 
voice  of  the  people  could  be  heard  hoarsely  growling. 
It  is  a startling  and  sacred  voice,  composed  of  the 
yell  of  the  brute  and  the  word  of  God,  which  terrifies 
the  weak  and  warns  the  wise,  and  which  at  once 
comes  from  below  like  the  voice  of  the  lion,  and  from 
above  like  the  voice  of  thunder. 


CHAPTER  III. 


THE  EXTREME  BRINK. 

Marius  liad  reached  the  markets ; there  all  was 
calmer,  darker,  and  even  more  motionless  than  in 
the  neighboring  streets.  Ut  seemed  as  if  the  frozen 
jieace  of  the  tomb  Jiad  issued  from  the  ground  and 
spread  over  the  sky.  I A ruddy  tinge,  however,  brought 
out  from  the  black  background  the  tall  roofs  of  the 
houses  which  barred  the  Rue  de  la  Chanvrerie  on 
the  side  of  St.  Eustache.  It  was  the  reflection  of 
the  torch  burning  on  the  Corinth  barricade,  [jind 
iMarius  walked  toward  that  ruddy  hue  ; it  led  him 
to  the  Marche  aux  Poirdes,  and  he  caught  a glimpse 
of  the  Rue  des  Precheurs,  into  which  he  turned. 
The  sentry  of  the  insurgents  watching  at  the  other 
end  did  not  notice  him  ; he  felt  himself  quite  close 
to  what  he  was  seeking,  and  he  walked  on  tiptoe. 
He  thus  reached  the  comer  of  that  short  piece  of 
the  iMond^tour  lane  which  was,  as  will  be  remem- 
bered, the  sole  communication  which  Enjolras  had 
maintained  with  the  outer  world.  At  the  corner 
of  the  last  house  on  his  left  he  stopped  and  peeped 
into  the  lane.  A little  beyond  the  dark  corner 
formed  by  the  lane  and  the  Rue  de  la  Chanvrerie, 
which  formed  a large  patch  of  shadow  in  which  he 


THE  EXTREME  BRINK. 


457 


Avas  himself  buried,  he  noticed  a little  light  on  the 
pavement,  a portion  of  a wine-shop,  a lamp  flickering 
in  a sort  of  shapeless  niche,  and  men  crouching  doAvn 
Avith  guns  on  their  knees,  — all  this  avus  scarce  ten 
yards  from  him,  and  AAms  the  interior  of  the  barricade. 
The  houses  that  lined  the  right-hand  side  of  the  lane 
hid  from  him  the  rest  of  the  Avine-shop,  the  large 
barricade,  and  the  flag.  Marius  had  but  one  step 
to  take,  and  then  the  unhappy  young  man  sat  doAvn 
on  a post,  folded  his  arms,  and  thought  of  his 
father. 

He  thought  of  that  heroic  Colonel  Pontmercy,  Avho 
had  been  such  a proud  soldier,  Avho  had  defended 
under  the  Republic  the  frontier  of  France,  and  touched 
under  the  Empire  the  frontier  of  Asia  ; Avho  had  seen 
Genoa,  Alexandria,  Milan,  Turin,  IMadrid,  Vienna, 
Dresden,  Berlin,  and  Moscoav  ; Avho  had  left  on  all 
the  Auctorious  battle-fields  of  Europe  drops  of  the 
same  blood  Avhich  Marius  had  in  his  A'eins  ; Avho  had 
groAvn  gray  before  age  in  discipline  and  command  ; 
Avho  had  lived  Avith  his  Avaist-belt  buckled,  his  epau- 
lettes falling  on  his  chest,  his  cockade  blackened  by 
smoke,  his  broAV  AATinkled  by  his  helmet,  in  barracks, 
in  camp,  in  bivouacs,  and  in  hospitals,  and  Avho, 
at  the  expiration  of  tAventy  year^  had  returned  from 
the  great  wars  AAuth  his  scarred  cheek  and  smiling 
face,  simple,  tranquil,  admirable,  pure  as  an  infant, 
liaA'ing  done  everything  for  France  and  nothing 
against  her.  He  said  to  himself  that  his  OAvn  day 
had  noAV  arrived,  that  his  hour  had  at  length  struck, 
that  after  his  father  he  too  Avas  going  to  be  brave, 
intrepid,  and  bold,  to  rush  to  meet  bullets,  offer  his 


458 


THE  HUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


chest  to  the  bayonets,  shed  his  blood,  seek  the  enemy, 
seek  death  ; that  he  in  his  turn  was  about  to  wage 
war  and  go  into  the  battle-field,  and  that  the  battle 
he  would  enter  was  the  street,  and  the  war  he  was 
about  to  wage  civil  war  ! He  saw  civil  war  opening 
like  a gulf  before  him,  and  that  he  was  going  to  fall 
into  it ; then  he  shuddered. 

]jEIe  thought  of  his  father’s  sword,  which  his  grand- 
father had  sold  to  the  old-clothes  dealer,  and  which 
he  had  so  painfully  regretted.  He  said  to  himself 
that  this  valiant  and  chaste  sword  had  done  well 
to  escape  from  him,  and  disappear  angrily  in  the 
darkness  ; that  it  fled  away  thus  because  it  was  in- 
telligent, and  foresaw  the  future,  — the  riots,  the 
war  of  gutters,  the  war  of  paving-stones,  fusillades 
I'rom  cellar-traps,  and  blows  dealt  and  received  from 
behind  ; that,  coming  from  Marengo  and  Austerlitz, 
it  was  unwilling  to  go  to  the  Rue  de  la  Chanvrerie, 
and  after  what  it  had  done  with  the  father  refused 
to  do  that  with  the  son  ! He  said  to  himself  that 
if  that  sword  had  been  here,  if,  after  receiving  it 
at  his  dead  father’s  bedside,  he  had  dared  to  take 
it,  and  carry  it  into  this  nocturnal  combat  between 
Frenchmen  in  the  streets,  it  would  assuredly  have 
burned  his  hands,  and  have  flashed  before  him  like 
the  glaive  of  the  archangel  ! He  said  to  himself 
that  it  was  fortunate  it  was  not  there,  but  had 
disappeared,  — that  this  was  well,  this  was  just, 
that  Ids  grandfather  had  been  the  true  guardian  of 
his  father’s  glory,  and  that  it  was  better  for  the 
Colonel’s  sword  to  have  been  put  up  to  auction, 
sold  to  the  second-hand  dealer,  or  broken  up  as  old 


THE  EXTREME  BRINK. 


459 


iron,  tlian  come  to-day  to  make  the  flank  of  tlie 
country  bleedi_!  And  tlien  he  began  weeping  bitterly. 
It  was  horrible,  but  what  was  he  to  do  ? He  could 
not  live  without  Cosette,  and  since  she  had  departed 
all  left  him  was  to  die.  Had  he  not  pledged  her 
his  word  of  honor  that  he  would  die  ? She  had 
gone  away  knowing  this,  and  it  was  plain  that  she 
was  pleased  with  Marius’s  dying ; and  then  it  was 
clear  that  she  no  longer  loved  him,  since  she  had 
gone  away  thus  without  warning  him,  without  a 
word,  without  a letter,  and  yet  she  knew  his  address  ! 
Of  what  use  was  it  to  live  ; and  why  should  he  live 
now?  And  then,  to  have  come  so  far  and  then 
recoil ! to  have  approached  the  danger  and  run  away  ! 
to  have  come  to  look  at  the  barricade  and  then  slip 
olF ! to  slip  off,  trembling  and  saying,  “ After  all,  I 
have  had  enough  of  that.  I have  seen  it,  that  is 
sufficient;  it  is  civil  war,  and  I will  be  off!”  To 
abandon  his  friends  who  expected  him,  who  perhaps 
had  need  of  him,  who  were  a handful  against  an 
army  ! To  be  false  to  everything  at  once,  — to  love, 
to  friendship,  to  his  word ! to  give  his  poltroonery 
the  pretext  of  patriotism  ! Oh,  that  was  impossible, 
and  if  his  father’s  phantom  were  there  in  the  shadows, 
and  saw  him  recoil,  it  "would  lash  him  with  the  flat 
of  its  sabre,  and  cry  to  him,  “ Forward,  coward  ! ” 

A prey  to  this  oscillation  of  his  thoughts,  he  hung 
his  head,  [but  suddenly  raised  it  again,  for  a species 
of  splendid  rectification  had  just  taken  place  in  his 
mind.  There  is  a /lilation  of  thought  peculiar  to 
the  vicinity  of  the  tomb ; and  to  be  near  death  makes 
a man  see  correctly.  The  vision  of  the  action  upon 


4G0 


THE  EUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


wliicli  lie  saw  liimself  perhaps  on  the  point  of  enter- 
ing, no  longer  appeared  to  him  lamentable,  but  superb ; 
the  street  was  become  transfigured  by  some  internal 
labor  of  the  soul  before  his  mental  eye.  All  the  tu- 
multuous notes  of  interrogation  of  reverie  crowded 
back  upon  him,  but  without  troubling  him,  and  he 
did  not  leave  a single  one  unanswered.  Why  would 
his  father  be  indignant  ? Are  there  not  cases  in  which 
insurrection  attains  to  the  dignity  of  duty  ? What 
was  there  degrading  for  the  son  of  Colonel  Pont- 
mercy  in  the  combat  which  was  about  to  begin? 
It  is  no  longer  Montmirail  or  Champaubert,  it  is 
something  else  ; it  is  no  longer  a question  of  a sacred 
territory,  but  of  a holy  idea.  The  country  complains ; 
be  it  so,  but  humanity  applauds.  Is  it  true,  besides, 
that  the  country  complains?  France  bleeds,  but  lib- 
erty smiles,  and  on  seeing  the  smile  of  liberty  France 
forgets  her  wound.  And  then,  regarding  things  from 
a higher  point  still,  what  did  people  mean  by  talking 
of  a civil  war  ? 

What  is  the  meaning  of  civil  war  ? Is  there  such 
a thing  as  a foreign  war  ? Is  not  every  war  between 
men  a war  between  brothers  ? War  can  only  be  quali- 
fied by  its  object,  and  there  is  neither  foreign  war 
nor  civil  war,  there  is  only  just  or  unjust  war.  Up 
to  the  day  when  the  great  human  concordat  is  con- 
cluded, war,  at  least  that  which  is  the  effort  of  the 
hurrying  future  against  the  laggard  past,  may  be  ne- 
cessary. What  reproach  can  be  urged  against  such  a 
war  ? War  does  not  become  a disgrace,  or  the  sword 
a dagger,  until  it  assassinates  right,  progress,  reason, 
civilization,  and  truth.  In  such  a case,  whether  civil 


THE  EXTREME  BRINK. 


461 


war  or  foreign  war,  it  is  iniquitous,  and  is  called 
crime.  Beyond  that  holy  thing  justice,  what  right 
would  one  form  of  war  have  to  despise  another  ? By 
what  right  would  the  sword  of  Washington  ignore  tlio 
pike  of  Camille  Desmoulins  ? Which  is  the  greater, 
Leonidas  contending  against  the  foreigner,  or  Timo- 
leon  against  the  tyrant?  One  is  the  defender,  the 
other  is  the  liberator.  Must  we  brand,  without  in- 
vestigating the  object,  every  taking  up  of  arms  in  the 
interior  of  a city  ? If  so,  mark  with  contumely  Bru- 
tus, Marcel,  Arnould  of  Blankenheim,  and  Coligny. 
A war  of  thickets  — a street  war  ? Why  not  ? Such 
was  the  war  of  Ambiorix,  of  Artevelde,  of  Marnix, 
and  Pelagius.  But  Ambiorix  struggled  against  Rome, 
Artevelde  against  France,  Marnix  against  Spain,  and 
Pelagius  against  the  Moors,  — all  against  the  for- 
eigner. Well,  monarchy  is  the  foreigner,  oppres- 
sion is  the  foreigner,  divine  right  is  the  foreigner, 
and  despotism  violates  the  moral  frontier  as  in- 
vasion does  the  geographical  frontier.  Expelling 
the  tyrant  or  expelling  the  English  is,  in  either 
case,  a reconquest  of  territory.  An  hour  arrives 
when  a protest  is  insufficient ; after  philosophy,  ac- 
tion is  needed;  living  strength  completes  what  the 
idea  has  sketched  out : Prometheus  vinctus  be- 
gins, Aristogiton  ends,  the  Encyclopsedia  enlightens 
minds,  and  August  10  electrifies  them.  After  iEs- 
chylus,  Thrasybulus ; after  Diderot,  Danton.  JMulti- 
tudes  have  a tendency  to  accept  the  master,  and  their 
mass  deposits  apathy.  A crowd  is  easily  led  into 
habits  of  obedience.  These  must  be  stirred  up,  im- 
pelled, and  roughly  treated  by  the  very  blessing  of 


462 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


their  deliverance,  their  eyes  be  liurt  by  the  truth,  and 
light  hurled  at  them  in  terrible  handfuls.  They  must 
themselves  be  to  some  extent  thunderstruck  by  their 
own  salvation,  for  such  a dazzling  awakes  them. 
Hence  comes  the  necessity  of  tocsins  and  wars ; it 
is  necessary  that  great  combatants  should  rise,  illu- 
mine nations  by  audacity,  and  shake  up  that  sorry 
humanity  over  which  divine  right,  Ctesarian  glory, 
strength,  fanaticism,  irresponsible  power,  and  abso- 
lute majesties  cast  a shadow,  — a mob  stupidly  occu- 
pied in  contemplating  these  gloomy  triumphs  of^  the 
night  in  their  crepuscular  splendor.  But  what  ? 
Whom  are  you  talking  of  ? Ho  you  call  liouis  Phi- 
lippe the  tyrant  ? No ; no  more  than  Louis  XVI. 
These  are  both  what  history  is  accustomed  to  call 
good  kings  ; but  principles  cannot  be  broken  up,  the 
logic  of  truth  is  rectilinear,  and  its  peculiarity  is 
that  it  lacks  pliability.  No  concession  therefore  ; 
every  encroachment  on  man  must  be  repressed  : there 
is  the  right  divine  in  Louis  XV^L,  there  is  the  “ be- 
cause a Bourbon  ” in  Louis  Philippe ; both  represent 
to  a certain  extent  the  confiscation  of  right,  and  they 
must  be  combated  in  order  to  sweep  away  universal 
usurpation ; it  must  be  so,  for  France  is  always  the 
one  who  begins,  and  when  the  master  falls  in  France 
he  falls  everywhere.  In  a word,  what  cause  is  more 
just,  and  consequently  what  war  is  greater,  than  to 
re-establish  social  truth,  give  back  its  throne  to  lib- 
erty, restore  the  people  to  the  people  and  the  sover- 
eignty to  man,  to  replace  the  crown  on  the  head  of 
France,  to  restore  reason  and  equity  in  their  pleni- 
tude, to  suppress  every  germ  of  antagonism  by  giving 


THE  EXTREME  BRINK. 


463 


back  indi\iduality,  to  aiinihikite  the  obstacle  which 
the  royalty  offers  to  the  immense  Imman  concord,  and 
to  place  the  human  race  once  again  on  a level  with 
right  ? Sucli  wars  construct  peace.  An  enormous 
fortalice  of  prejudice,  privileges,  superstitions,  false- 
hoods, exactions,  abuses,  violences,  iniquities,  and 
darknesses,  is  still  standing  on  the  earth  with  its 
towers  of  hatred,  and  it  must  be  thrown  down, 
and  the  monstrous  mass  crumble  away.  To  conquer 
at  Austerlitz  is  great,  but  to  take  the  Bastille  is 
immense. 

No  one  but  will  have  noticed  in  himself  that  the 
mind  — and  this  is  the  marvel  of  its  unity  compli- 
cated with  ubiquity  — has  the  strange  aptitude  of 
reasoning  almost  coldly  in  the  most  violent  extremi- 
ties, and  it  often  happens  that  weird  passions  and 
deep  despair,  in  the  very  agony  of  their  blackest 
soliloquies,  handle  subjects  and  discuss  theses.  Logic 
is  mingled  with  the  convulsion,  and  the  thread  of 
syllogism  floats,  without  breaking,  through  the  storm 
of  the  thoughts ; such  was  Marius’s  state  of  mind."\ 
While  thinking  thus,  crushed  but  resolute,  and  yet 
hesitating  and  shuddering  at  what  he  was  going  to 
do,  his  eyes  wandered  about  the  interior  of  the  barri- 
cade. The  insurgents  were  conversing  in  whispers, 
without  moving,  and  that  almost  silence  which  marks 
the  last  phase  of  expectation  was  perceptible.  [Above 
them,  at  a third-floor  window,  Marius  distinguished  a 
species  of  spectat^or  of  witness  who  seemed  sin- 
gularly attentive  was  the  porter  killed  by  Le 
Cabuc.  From  below,  this  head  could  be  vaguely 
perceived  in  the  reflection  of  the  torch  burning  on 


464 


THE  HUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


tlie  barricade,  and  nothing  was  stranger  in  this  dense 
and  vacillating  light  than  this  motionless,  livid,  and 
amazed  face,  with  its  bristling  hair,  open  and  fixed 
eyes,  and  gaping  mouth,  bending  over  the  street  in 
an  attitude  of  curiosity.  It  might  be  said  that  this 
dead  man  was  contemplating  those  who  were  going 
to  die.  A long  stream  of  blood,  which  had  flowed 
from  his  head,  descended  from  the  window  to  the 
first-floor,  where  it  stopped. 


BOOK  XIY. 


THE  GRANDEUR  OF  DESPAIR. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  FLAG  : ACT  FIRST. 

Nothing  came  yet : it  had  struck  ten  by  St. 
ilerry’s,  and  Enjolras  and  Combeferre  were  sitting 
musket  in  hand  near  the  sally-port  of  the  great  bar- 
ricade. They  did  not  speak,  but  were  listening,  try- 
ing to  catch  the  dullest  and  most  remote  sound  of 
marching.  Suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  this  lugubrious 
calm,  a clear,  young,  gay  voice,  which  seemed  to 
come  from  the  Rue  St.  Denis,  burst  forth,  and  be- 
gan singing  distinctly,  to  the  old  popular  tune  of 
“ Au  clair  de  la  lune,”  these  lines,  terminating  with 
a cry  that  resembled  a cock-crow : — 

“ Mon  nez  est  en  larmes, 

Mon  ami  Bugeand, 

Pret’-moi  tes  gendarmes 
Pour  leur  dire  un  mot. 

En  capote  bleue, 

La  poule  au  shako, 

Voici  la  banlieue  ! 

Co-cocorico ! ” 

30 


VOL.  IV. 


466 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


They  sliook  hands. 

“ ’T  is  Gavi’oche,”  said  Enjolras. 

“ He  is  warning  us,”  said  Combeferre. 

Hurried  footsteps  troubled  the  deserted  streets, 


a being  more  active  than  a clown  Avas  seen  climbing 


“ My  gun  ! Here  they  are  ! ” 

An  electric  shudder  ran  along  the  whole  barri- 
cade, and  the  movement  of  hands  seeking  guns  was 
heard. 

^ Will  you  have  my  carbine  ? ” Enjolras  asked 
the  gamin. 

“ I want  the  big  gun,”  Gavroche  answered,  and 
took  Javert’s  musket. 

Two  sentries  had  fallen  back  and  come  in  almost 
simultaneously  with  Gavroche  ; they  were  those  from 
the  end  of  the  street  and  the  Petite  Truanderie. 
The  vedette  in  the  Lane  des  Precheurs  remained  at 
his  post,  which  indicated  that  nothing  was  coming 
from  the  direction  of  the  bridges  and  the  markets. 
The  Rue  de  la  Chanvrerie,  in  which  a few  paving- 
stones  were  scarce  visible  in  the  reflection  of  the 
light  cast  on  the  flag,  offered  to  the  insurgents  the 
aspect  of  a large  black  gate  vaguely  opened  in  a 
cloud  of  smoke.  Every  man  proceeded  to  his  post ; 
forty-three  insurgents,  among  whom  were  Enjolras, 
Combeferre,  Courfeyrac,  Bossuet,  Joly,  Bahorel,  and 
Gavroche,  knelt  behind  the  great  barricade,  with  the 
muzzles  of  their  guns  and  carbines  thrust  out  be- 
tween the  paving-stones  as  through  loop-holes,  atten- 
tive, silentj  and  ready  to  fire.  Six,  commanded  by 


THE  FLAG:  ACT  FIRST. 


467 


Feuilly,  installed  themselves  at  the  upper  windows 
of  Corinth^  Some  minutes  more  elapsed,  and  then  ''' 
a measured,  heavy  tramp  of  many  feet  was  distinctly 
heard  from  the  direction  of  St.  Leu ; this  noise,  at 
first  faint,  then  precise,  and  then  heavy  and  re- 
echoing, approached  slowly,  -stithout  halt  or  inter- 
ruption, and  with  a tranquil  and  terrible  continuity, 
^othing  was  audible  but  this ; it  was  at  once  the 
■silence  and  noise  of  the  statue  of  the  Commander ; 
but  the  stony  footfall  had  something  enormous  and 
multiple  about  it,  which  aroused  the  idea  of  a multi- 
tude at  the  same  time  as  that  of  a spectre ; you 
might  have  fancied  that  you  heard  the  fearful  statue 
Legion  on  the  inarch^  The  tramp  came  nearer,"^ 
nearer  still,  and  then  ceased ; and  the  breathing  of 
many  men  seemed  to  be  audible  at  the  end  of  the 
street.  Nothing,  however,  was  visible,  thougli  quite 
at  the  end  in  the  thick  gloom  could  be  distinguished 
a multitude  of  metallic  threads,  fine  as  needles  and 
almost  imperceptible,  which  moved  about  like  that 
indescribable  phosphoric  network  which  we  perceive 
under  our  closed  eyelids  just  at  the  moment  when 
we  are  falling  asleep.  These  were  bayonets  and 
musket-barrels  on  which  the  reflection  of  the  torch 
confusedly  fell.  There  was  another  pause,  as  if  both 
sides  were  waiting.  All  at  once  a voice  which  was 
the  more  sinister  because  no  one  could  be  seen,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  the  darkness  itself  was  speaking,  shouted, 

“ Who  goes  there  ? ” 

At  the  same  time  the  eliek  of  muskets  being  cocked 
could  be  heard.  Enjolras  replied  with  a sonorous 
and  haughty  accent, — 


468 


THE  EUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


“French  Revolution ! ” 

“ Fire  ! ” the  voice  commanded. 

A flash  lit  up  all  the  frontages  in  the  street,  as  if 
the  door  of  a furnace  had  been  suddenly  opened  and 
shut,  and  a frightful  shower  of  bullets  hurled  against 
the  bari’icade,[^nd  the  flag  fell.  The  discharge  had 
been  so  violent  and  dense  that  it  cut  the  stafl"  asun- 
der, that  is  to  say,  the  extreme  point  of  the  omnibus 
pol^  Bullets  ricochetting  from  the  cornices  of  the 
hoiises  penetrated  the  barricade  and  wounded  several 
men.  The  impression  produced  by  this  first  discharge 
was  chilling ; the  attack  was  rude,  and  of  a nature 
to  make  the  boldest  think.  It  was  plain  that  they 
had  to  do  with  a whole  regiment  at  the  least. 

“ Comrades,”  Courfeyrac  cried,  “ let  us  not  waste 
our  powder,  but  wait  till  they  have  entered  the  street 
before  returning  their  fire.” 

^ “And  before  all,”  Enjolras  said,  “let  us  hoist  the 
flag  again ! ” 

He  picked  up  the  flag,  which  had  fallen  at  his 
feet]  outside,  the  ring  of  ramrods  in  barrels  could 
be  heard ; the  troops  were  reloading.  [Enjolras 
^ continued,  — 

“ Who  has  a brave  heart  among  us  ? Who  will 
plant  the  flag  on  the  barricade  again  ? ” 

Not  one  replied ; for  to  mount  the  barricade  at 
this  moment,  when  all  the  guns  were  doubtless  again 
aimed  at  it,  was  simply  death,  and  the  bravest  man 
hesitates  to  condemn  himself.  Enjolras  even  shud- 
dered as  he  repeated,  — 

“ Will  no  one  offer  ? ” 


CHAPTER  II. 


THE  flag:  act  second. 

Since  the  arrival  at  Corinth  and  the  barricade 
had  been  begun  no  one  paid  any  further  attention  to 
Father  Maboeuf.  M.  IMaboeuf,  however,  had  not 
quitted  the  insurgents  : he  had  gone  into  the  ground- 
floor  room  of  the  wine-shop  and  seated  himself  be- 
hind the  bar,  where  he  was,  so  to  speak,  annihilated 
in  himself.  He  seemed  no  longer  to  see  or  think. 
Courfeyrac  and  others  had  twice  or  thrice  accosted 
him,  warning  him  of  the  peril  and  begging  him  to  with- 
draw, but  he  had  not  appeared  to  hear  them.  When 
no  one  was  speaking  to  him  his  lips  moved  as  if  he  were 
answering  some  one,  and  so  soon  as  people  addressed 
him  his  lips  left  off  moving,  and  his  eyes  no  longer 
seemed  alive.  A few  hours  before  the  barricade  was 
attacked  he  had  assumed  a posture  which  he  had  not 
quitted  since,  with  his  two  hands  on  his  knees,  and 
his  head  bent  forward,  as  if  he  were  looking  into  a 
precipice.  Nothing  could  have  drawn  him  out  of  this 
attitude,  and  it  did  not  appear  as  if  his  mind  were  in 
the  barricade.  When  every  one  else  went  to  his  post 
the  only  persons  left  in  the  room  were  Javert  tied 
to  the  post,  an  insurgent  with  drawn  sabre  watching 


470 


THE  EUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


over  Javert,  and  Maboeuf.  At  the  luonient  of  the 
attack,  at  the  detonation,  the  physical  shock  affected 
and  as  it  were  awoke  him ; he  suddenly  rose, 
crossed  the  room,  and  at  the  moment  when  Enjolras 
repeated  his  a^ipeal,  “Does  no  one  offer?”  the  old 
man  was  seen  on  the^  threshold  of  the  wine-shop. 
His  presence  produced  a species  of  commotion  in  the 
groups,  and  the  cry  was  raised,  — 

“ It  is  the  voter,  the  conventionalist,  the  representa- 
tive of  the  people  ! ” 

He  probably  did  not  hear  it : he  walked  straight 
up  to  Enjolras,  the  insurgents  making  way  for  him 
with  a religious  fear,  tore  the  flag  from  Enjolras,  who 
recoiled  with  petrifaction,  and  then,  no  one  daring  to 
arrest  or  help  him,  this  old  man  of  eighty,  with  shak- 
ing head  but  firm  step,  slowly  began  ascending  the 
staircase  of  paving-stones  formed  inside  the  barricade. 
This  was  so  gloomy  and  so  grand  that  all  around  him 
cried,  “ Oil'  with  your  hats ! ” With  each  step  he  as- 
cended the  scene  became  more  frightful ; his  white 
hair,  his  decrepit  face,  his  high,  bald,  and  wrinkled 
forehead,  his  hollow  eyes,  his  amazed  and  open  mouth, 
and  his  old  arm  raising  the  red  banner,  stood  out 
from  the  darkness  and  were  magnified  in  the  san- 
guinary brightness  of  the  torch,  and  the  spectators 
fancied  they  saw  the  spectre  of  ’93  issuing  from  the 
ground,  holding  the  flag  of  terror  in  its  hand.  When 
he  was  on  the  last  step,  when  this  trembling  and  ter- 
rible phantom,  standing  on  the  pile  of  ruins,  in  the 
presence  of  twelve  hundred  invisible  gun-barrels, 
stood  facing  death,  and  as  if  stronger  than  it,  the 
whole  barricade  assumed  a supernatural  and  colossal 


THE  FLAG:  ACT  SECOND. 


471 


aspect  in  the  darkness.  There  was  one  of  those 
silences  which  occur  only  at  the  sight  of  prodigies, 
and  in  the  midst  of  this  silence  the  old  man  bran- 
dished the  red  flag  and  cried,  — 

“ Long  live  the  revolution  ! Long  live  the  repub- 
lic ! Fraternity,  equality,  and  death  ! ” 

A low  and  quick  talking,  like  the  murmur  of  a 
hurried  priest  galloping  through  a mass,  was  heard  ; 
it  was  probably  the  police  commissary  making  the 
legal  summons  at  the  other  end  of  the  street ; then 
the  same  loud  voice  which  had  shouted  “ Who  goes 
there  ? ” cried,  — 

‘‘  Withdraw  ! ” 

hi.  Maboeuf,  livid,  haggard,  with  his  eyeballs 
illumined  by  the  mournful  flames  of  mania,  raised 
the  flag  about  his  head  and  repeated,  — 

“ Long  live  the  republic  ! ” 

“ Fire  ! ” the  voice  commanded. 

A second  discharge,  resembling  a round  of  grape- 
shot,  burst  against  the  barricade  ; the  old  man  sank 
on  his  knees,  then  rose  again,  let  the  flag  slip  from 
his  hand,  and  fell  back  on  the  pavement  like  a log, 
with  his  arms  stretched  out  like  a cross.  Streams  of 
blood  flowed  under  him,  and  his  old,  pale,  melan- 
choly face  seemed  to  be  gazing  at  heaven.  One  of 
those  emotions  stronger  than  man,  which  makes  him 
forget  self-defence,  seized  on  the  insurgents,  and  they 
approached  the  corpse  with  respectful  horror. 

“ What  men  these  regicides  are  ! ” said  Enjolras. 
Courfeyrac  whispered  in  Enjolras’s  ear,  — 

“ This  is  only  between  ourselves,  as  I do  not  wish 
to  diminish  the  enthusiasm  ; but  this  man  was  any- 


472 


TPIE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


thing  rather  than  a regicide.  I knew  him,  and  his 
name  was  Maboeuf.  I do  not  know  what  was  the 
matter  with  him  to-day,  but  he  was  a brave  idiot. 
Look  at  his  head.” 

“ The  head  of  an  idiot  and  the  heart  of  Brntus ! ” 
Enjolras  replied  ; then  he  raised  his  voice  : — 

“ Citizens ! such  is  the  example  which  the  old 
give  to  the  young.  We  hesitated  and  he  came  ; we 
recoiled  and  he  advanced.  This  is  what  those  who 
tremble  with  old  age  teach  those  who  tremble 
with  fear ! This  aged  man  is  august  before  his 
country ; he  has  had  a long  life  and  a magnificent 
death  ! Now  let  us  place  his  corpse  under  cover;  let 
each  of  us  defend  this  dead  old  man  as  he  would 
defend  his  living  father  ; and  let  his  presence  in  the 
midst  of  us  render  the  barricade  impregnable  ! ” 

A murmur  of  gloomy  and  energetic  adhesion  fol- 
lowed these  words.  Enjolras  bent  down,  raised  the 
old  man’s  head  and  sternly  kissed  him  on  the  fore- 
head ; then,  stretching  out  his  arms  and  handling 
the  dead  man  with  tender  caution,  as  if  afraid  of 
hurting  him,  he  took  off  his  coat,  pointed  to  the 
blood-stained  holes,  and  said,  ^ — • 

“ This  is  now  our  flag  ! ” 


CHAPTER  III. 


GAVROCHE  HAD  BETTER  HAVE  ACCEPTED  THE 
CARBINE  OF  ENJOLRAS. 

A LONG  black  shawl  of  Widow  Huclieloup’s  was 
thrown  over  Father  IMaboeuf ; six  men  made  a litter 
of  tlieir  muskets,  the  corpse  was  laid  on  them,  and 
they  carried  it  with  bare  heads  and  solemn  slowness 
to.  a large  table  in  the  ground-floor  room.  These 
men,  entirely  engaged  with  the  grave  and  sacred 
thing  they  were  doing,  did  not  think  of  the  perilous 
situation  in  which  they  were,  and  when  the  corpse 
was  carried  past  the  stoical  J avert,  Enjolras  said  to 
the  spy,  — 


Your  turn  will  come  soon. 


During  this  period  little  Ga\Toche,  who  alone 
had  not  left  his  post,  and  had  remained  on  the 
watch,  fancied  he  could  see  men  creeping  up  to 
the  barricade  : all  at  once  he  cried,  “ Look  out ! ” 
Courfeyrac,  Enjolras,  Jean  Prouvaire,  Combeferre, 
Joly,  Bahorel,  and  Bossuet  aU  hurried  tumultuously 
out  of  the  wine-shop ; but  it  was  almost  too  late,  for 
they  saw  a flashing  line  of  bayonets  undulating  on 
the  crest  of  the  barricade.  Municipal  Guards  of  tall 
stature  penetrated,  |onie  by  striding  over  the  omni- 
bus, others  through  the  sally-porQ  driving  before 
them  the  gamin,  who  fell  back,  but  did  not  fly.  The 


474 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


moment  was  critical ; it  was  that  first  formidable 
minute  of  inundation  when  the  river  rises  to  the 
level  of  the  dam  and  the  water  begins  to  filter 
through  the  fissures  of  the  dyke.  One  second  more 
and  the  barricade  was  captured.  Bahorel  dashed  at 
the  first  Municipal  Guard  who  entered,  and  killed 
him  with  a shot  from  his  carbine  ; the  second  killed 
Bahorel  with  a bayonet-thrust.  Another  had  already 
levelled  Courfeyrac,  who  was  shouting  “Help ! ” while 
the  tallest  of  all  of  them,  a species  of  Colossus,  was 
marching  upon  Gavroche,  with  his  bayonet  at  the 
charge.  The  gamin  raised  in  his  little  arms  Javert’s 
enormous  musket,  resolutely  aimed  at  the  giant,  and 
pulled  the  trigger.  But  the  gun  did  not  go  off,  as 
J avert  had  not  loaded  it : the  Municipal  Guard  burst 
into  a laugh,  and  advanced  upon  the  lad.  Before 
the  bayonet  had  reached  Gavroche,  however,  the 
musket  fell  from  the  soldier’s  hands,  for  a bullet 
struck  him  in  the  middle  of  the  forehead,  and  he 
fell  on  his  back.  A second  bullet  struck  the  other 
guard,  who  had  attacked  Courfeyrac,  in  the  middle 
of  the  chest,  and  laid  him  low. 

The  shots  were  fired  by  Marius,  who  had  just  en- 
tered the  barricade.  , ^ 


CHAPTER  IV. 


THE  BARREL  OF  GUXPOTTDER. 

IMarius,  still  concealed  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue 
IMondetour,  had  watched  the  first  phase  of  the  com- 
bat ^yith  shuddering  irresolution.  Still  he  was  unable 
to  resist  for  any  length  of  time  that  mysterious  and 
sovereign  dizziness  which  might  be  called  the  appeal 
from  the  abyss  ; and  at  the  sight  of  the  imminence 
of  the  peril,  of  M.  Maboeuf’s  death,  that  mournful 
enigma,  Bahorel  killed,  Courfeyrac  shouting  for  help, 
this  child  menaced,  and  his  friends  to  succor  or  re- 
venge, all  hesitation  vanished,  and  he  rushed  into 
the  medley,  pistols  in  hand.  With  the  first  shot 
he  saved  Gavroche,  and  with  the  second  delivered 
Courfeyrac.  On  hearing  the  shots,  and  the  cries  of 
the  guards,  the  assailants  swarmed  up  the  intreuch- 
ment,  over  the  crest  of  which  could  now  be  seen 
more  than  half  the  bodies  of  Municipal  Guards, 
troops  of  the  line,  and  National  Guards  from  the 
suburbs,  musket  in  hand.  They  already  covered 
more  than  two  thirds  of  the  barricade,  but  no  longer 
leaped  do’UTi  into  the  enclosure,  and  hesitated,  as  if 
they  feared  some  snare.  They  looked  down  into  the 
gloomy  space  as  they  would  have  peered  into  a 
lion’s  den  ; and  the  light  of  the  torch  only  illumined 


476 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


bayonets,  bearsbiii  shakos,  and  anxious  and  irritated 
faces. 

Marius  had  no  longer  a weapon,  as  he  had  thrown 
away  his  discharged  pistols  ; but  he  had  noticed  the 
barrel  of  gunpowder  near  the  door  of  the  ground- 
floor  room.  As  he  half  turned  to  look  in  that  direction 
a soldier  levelled  his  musket  at  him,  and  at  the  mo- 
ment when  the  soldier  was  taking  steady  aim  at 
Marius,  a hand  was  laid  on  the  muzzle  of  his  musket 
and  stopped  it  up  ; the  young  workman  in  tlie  velvet 
trousers  had  rushed  forward.  The  shot  was  fired, 
the  bullet  passed  through  the  hand,  and  probably 
through  the  workman,  for  he  fell,  but  it  did  not 
hit  Marius.  ' Marius,  who  was  entering  the  wine- 
shop, hardly  noticed  this  ; still  he  had  confusedly 
seen  the  gun  pointed  at  him,  and  the  hand  laid  on 
the  muzzle,  and  had  heard  the  explosion.  But  in 
minutes  like  this  things  that  men  see  vacillate,  and 
they  do  not  dwell  on  anything,  for  they  feel  them- 
selves obscurely  impelled  toward  deeper  shadows  still, 
and  all  is  mist.  The  insurgents,  surprised  but  not 
terrified,  had  rallied,  and  Enjolras  cried,  “ Wait ; do 
not  throw  away  your  shots!”  and,  in  truth,  in  the 
first  moment  of  confusion  they  might  wound  each 
other.  The  majority  had  gone  up  to  the  first-floor 
and  attic  windows,  whence  they  commanded  the 
assailants  ; but  the  more  determined,  with  Enjolras, 
Conrfeyrac,  Jean  Pronvaire,  and  Combeferre,  were 
haughtily  standing  against  the  houses  at  the  end, 
unprotected,  and  facing  the  lines  of  soldiers  and 
gnards  who  crowned  the  barricade.  All  this  was 
done  without  precipitation,  and  with  that  strange 


THE  BARREL  OF  GUNPOWDER. 


477 


and  menacing-  gravity  which  precedes  a combat ; on 
both  sides  men  were  aiming  at  each  other  within 
point-blank  range,  and  they  were  so  near  that  they 
could  converse.  When  they  were  at  the  point  where 
the  spark  Avas  about  to  shoot  forth,  an  officer  Avearing 
a gorget  and  heavy  epaulettes  stretched  out  his  sword 
and  said,  — 

“ ThroAV  down  your  arms  ! ” 

“ Fire  ! ” Enjolras  commanded. 

The  tAvo  detonations  took  place  at  the  same  mo- 
ment, and  eA’erything  disappeared  in  smoke,- — a shai’p 
and  stiHing  smoke,  — in  Avhich  the  dying  and  the 
Avounded  Avrithed,  Avith  faint  and  hollow  groans. 
When  the  smoke  dispersed,  the  two  lines  of  com- 
batants could  be  seen  thinned,  but  at  the  same  spot, 
and  silently  reloading  their  guns.  All  at  once  a 
thundering  A'oice  Avas  heard  shouting,  — 

“ Begone,  or  I Avill  blow  up  the  barricade  ! ” 

All  turned  to  the  quarter  Avhence  the  voice  came. 
Marius  had  entered  the  Avine-shop,  fetched  the 
barrel  of  gunpoAATler,  and  then,  taking  advantage  of 
the  smoke  and  obscure  mist  Avhich  filled  the  in- 
trenched space,  glided  along  the  barricade  up  to  the 
cage  of  paA-ing-stones  in  Avhich  the  torch  Avas  fixed. 
To  tear  out  the  torch,  place  in  its  stead  the  barrel 
of  poAvder,  throw  doAvn  the  pile  of  paving-stones  on 
the  barrel,  Avhich  Avas  at  once  unheaded  with  a sort 
of  terrible  obedience,  had  only  occupied  so  much 
time  as  stooping  and  rising  again  ; and  now  all. 
National  Guards  and  Municipal  Guards,  officers  and 
privates,  collected  at  the  other  end  of  the  barricade, 
gazed  at  him  in  stupor,  as  he  stood  with  one  foot 


478 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


on  the  paving-stones,  the  torch  in  his  hand,  liis 
haughty  face  illumined  by  a fatal  resolution,  ap- 
proaching the  flame  of  the  torch  to  the  formidable 
heap,  in  which  the  broken  powder-barrel  could  be 
distinguished,  and  uttering  the  terrifying  cry,  — 

“ Begone,  or  I will  blow  up  the  barricade  ! ” 

]~ Marius,  on  this  barricade  after  the  octogenarian, 
was  the  vision  of  the  young  revolution  after  the 
apparition  of  the  old  one. 

“ Blow  up  the  barricade  ! ” a sergeant  said,  “ and 
yourself  too ! ” 

Marius  answered,  “And  myself  too!” 

And  he  lowered  the  torch  toward  the  barrel  of 
gunpowder ; but  there  was  no  one  left  on  the 
barricade.  The  assailants,  leaving  their  dead  and 
their  wounded,  fell  back  pell-mell  and  in  disorder 
to  the  end  of  the  street,  and  disappeared  again  in 
the  night.  It  was  a sauve  qui  iwut. 

The  barricade  was  saved. 


CHAPTER  V. 


END  OF  THE  VERSES  OF  JEAN  PROUVAIEE. 

All  surrounded  Marius,  and  Courfeyrac  fell  on 
his  neck. 

“ Here  you  are  ! ” 

“ What  happiness  ! ” said  Combeferre. 

“ A"ou  arrived  just  in  time,”  said  Bossuet. 

“ Were  it  not  for  you  I should  be  dead  ! ” Cour- 
feyrac remarked. 

“ Without  you  I should  have  been  gobbled  ! ” 
Gawoche  added. 

Marius  asked,  — 

“ M"ho  is  the  leader  ? ” 

“ A’ourself,”  Enjolras  replied. 

Marius  the  whole  day  through  had  had  a furnace 
in  his  brain,  but  now  it  was  a whirlvdnd ; and  this 
whirlwind  which  was  in  him  produced  on  him  the 
effect  of  being  outside  him  and  carrying  him  away. 
It  seemed  to  him  as  if  he  were  already  an  immense 
distance  from  life,|and  his  two  luminous  months  of 
joy  and  love  suddenly  terminated  at  this  frightful 
precipice.  Cosette  lost  to  him,  this  barricade,  M. 
Maboeuf  letting  himself  be  killed  for  the  Republic, 
himself  chief  of  the  insurgents,  — all  these  things 
seemed  to  him  a monstrous  nightmare,  and  (he  was 


480 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


obliged  to  make  a mental  effort  in  order  to  remind 
himself  that  all  which  surrounded  him  was  real. 
Marius  had  not  lived  long  enough  yet  to  know  that 
nothing  is  so  imminent  as  the  impossible,  and  that 
what  must  be  always  foreseen  is  the  unforeseen.  He 
witnessed  the  performance  of  his  own  drama  as  if 
it  Avere  a piece  of  which  he  understood  nothing.  [In 
his  mental  fog  he  did  not  recognize  Javert,  who, 
fastened  to  his  post,  had  not  made  a movement  of 
his  head  during  the  attack  on  the  barricade,  and  saAV 
the  revolt  buzzing  round  him  Avith  the  resignation  of 
a martyr  and  the  mt^sty  of  a judge.  Marius  did 
not  eA"en  notice  him  J In  the  mean  while  the  assail- 
ants no  longer  stirred ; they  could  be  heard  marching 
and  moving  at  the  end  of  the  street,  but  did  not 
venture  into  it,  either  because  they  Avere  AA’aiting  for 
orders,  or  else  required  reinforcements,  before  rush- 
ing again  upon  this  impregnable  redoubt.  The  insur- 
gents had  posted  sentries,  and  some  Avho  Avere  med- 
ical students  had  begun  dressing  Avounds.  ^11  the 
tables  had  been  dragged  out  of  the  Avine-shop,  Avith 
the  exception  of  the  two  reserved  for  the  lint  and 
the  cartridges,  and  the  one  on  Avhich  Father  Maboeuf 
lay ; they  had  been  added  to  the  barricade,  and  the 
mattresses  off  the  beds  of  WidoAV  Ilucheloup  and 
the  girls  had  been  put  in  their  place.  On  these  mat- 
tresses the  Avounded  were  laid  ; as  for  the  three  poor 
creatures  Avho  inhabited  Corinth,  no  one  kneAV  Avhat 
had  become  of  them,  but  they  Avere  at  length  found 
hidden  in  the  cellar. 

A poignant  emotion  darkened  the  joy  of  the  liber- 
ated barricade ; the  roll-call  Avas  made,  and  one  of 


EXD  OF  THE  VERSES  OF  JEAN  PROUVAIRE.  481 


tlie  insurgents  was  missing.  Who  was  he  ? One  of 
the  dearest  and  most  valiant,  Jean  Prouvaire.  He 
was  souglit  for  among  the  dead,  but  was  not  there ; 
he  was  sought  for  among  the  wounded,  and  was  not 
there  ; he  was  e\ddentlj  a prisoner.  Combeferre  said 
to  Enjolras,  — 

“ They  have  our  friend,  but  we  have  their  agent ; 
do  you  insist  on  the  death  of  this  spy  ? ” 

“Yes,”  Enjolras  replied,  “but  less  than  the  life 
of  Jean  Prouvaire.” 

This  was  said  in  the  bar-room  close  to  Javert’s 
post. 

“ Well,”  Combeferre  continued,  “ I will  fasten  a 
handkercliief  to  my  cane,  and  go  as  a flag  of  truce 
to  offer  to  give  them  their  man  for  our  man.” 

“Listen,”  said  Enjolras,  as  he  laid  his  hand  on 
Combeferre’s  arm. 

There  was  a meaning  click  of  guns  at  the  end 
of  the  street,  and  a manly  voice  could  be  heard 
crying,  — 

“ Long  live  France  I Long  live  the  future  ! ” 

They  recognized  Prouvaire’s  voice ; a flash  passed 
and  a detonation  burst  forth;  then  the  silence 
returned. 

“ They  have  killed  him,”  Combeferre  exclaimed. 

Enjolras  looked  at  Javeit  and  said  to  him,  — 

“ Your  friends  have  just  shot  you.” 


VOL.  IV. 


31 


CHAPTER  VI. 


death’s  agony  after  life’s  agony. 

It  is  a singularity  of  this  sort  of  war,  that  the  at- 
tack on  barricades  is  almost  always  made  in  the  front, 
and  that  the  assailants  generally  refrain  from  turning 
positions,  either  because  they  suspect  ambuscades,  or 
are  afraid  to  enter  winding  streets.  The  whole  atten- 
tion of  the  insurgents  was,  consequently,  directed  to 
the  great  barricade,  which  ivas  evidently  the  con- 
stantly threatened  point,  and  the  contest  would  in- 
fallibly recommence  there.  Marius,  however,  thought 
of  the  little  barricade,  and  went  to  it ; it  was  de- 
serted./aiid  only  guarded  by  the  lamp  which  flickered 
among  the  paving-stones.  However,  the  IMond^tour 
lane  and  the  branches  of  the  Little  Truanderie  were 
perfectly  calra,_j'^  As  IMarius,  after  making  his  inspec- 
tion, Avas  going  back,  he  heard  his  name  faintly  uttered 
in  the  darkness,  — 

“ Monsieur  Marius  ! ” 

He  started,  for  he  recognized  the  voice  AAdiich  had 
summoned  him  tAvo  hours  back  through  the  garden 
railings  in  the  Rue  Plumet,  but  this  voice  now  only 
seemed  to  be  a gasp ; he  looked  around  him  and  saAv 
nobody.  Marius  fancied  that  he  Avas  mistaken,  and 
that  it  Avas  an  illusion  added  by  his  mind  to  the 


DEATH’S  AGOEY  AETER  LIFE’S  AGONY.  483 


extraordinary  realities  which,  were  pressing  round 
him.  He  took  a step  to  leave  the  remote  angle  in 
which  the  barricade  stood, 

“ Monsieur  Marius  ! ” the  voice  repeated ; this  time 
he  could  not  doubt,  for  he  had  heard  distinctly  ; he 
looked  around  but  saw  nothing. 

“ At  your  feet,”  the  voice  said. 

He  stooped  down,  and  saw  in  the  shadow  a form 
crawling  toward  him  on  the  pavement.  It  was  the 
speaker.  The  lamp  enabled  him  to  distinguish  a 
blouse,  torn  cotton-velvet  trousers,  bare  feet,  and 
something  that  resembled  a pool  of  blood  ; Marius 
also  caught  a glimpse  of  a pale  face  raised  to  him, 
and  saying, — 

“ Do  you  not  recognize  me  ? ” 

“ Xo.” 

“ Eponine.” 

INIarius  eagerly  stooped  down  ; it  was  really  that 
hapless  girl,  dressed  in  male  clothes. 

“ What  brought  you  here  ? What  are  you  doing  ? ” 
“ Dying,”  she  said  to  him. 

There  are  words  and  incidents  that  wake  up 
crushed  beings ; Marius  cried  with  a start,  — 

“ You  are  wounded  ! Wait,  I will  carry  you  into 
the  wine-shop ! A”our  wound  will  be  dressed  ! Is  it 
serious  ? How  shall  I catch  hold  of  you  so  as  not 
to  hurt  you  ? Where  is  it  you  suffer  ? Help,  good 
God  ! But  what  did  you  come  to  do  here  ? ” 

And  he  tried  to  pass  his  hand  under  her  to  lift 
her,  and  as  he  did  so  he  touched  her  hand ; she 
uttered  a faint  cry. 

“ Have  I hurt  you  ? ” Marius  asked. 


484 


THE  HUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


“ A little.” 

“ But  I only  touched  your  hand.” 

She  raised  her  hand  to  Marius’s  eyes,  and  he  could 
see  a hole  right  through  it. 

“ What  is  the  matter  with  your  hand  ? ” he  said. 

“ It  is  pierced.” 

“ Pierced  ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ What  with  ? ” 

“ A bullet.” 

“ How  ? ” 

“ Did  you  see  a musket  aimed  at  you  ? ” 

“ Yes,  and  a hand  laid  on  the  muzzle.” 

“ It  was  mine.” 

Marius  shuddered. 

“ What  madness  ! poor  child  ! But  all  the  better ; 
if  that  is  your  wound,  it  is  nothing,  so  let  me  carry 
you  to  a bed.  Your  wound  will  be  dressed,  and  peo- 
ple do  not  die  of  a bullet  through  the  hand.” 

She  murmured,  — 

“ The  bullet  passed  through  my  hand  but  came 
out  of  my  back,  so  it  is  useless  to  move  me  from 
here.  I will  tell  you  how  you  can  do  me  more  good 
than  a surgeon ; sit  down  by  my  side  on  that  stone.” 

He  obeyed ; she  laid  her  head  on  his  knees,  and 
without  looking  at  him,  said,  — 

“ Oh,  how  good  that  is,  how  comforting  ! See, 
I no  longer  suffer  ! ” 

She  remained  silent  for  a moment,  then  turned  her 
head  with  an  effort  and  gazed  at  Marius. 

“ Do  you  know  this.  Monsieur  Marius  ? It  annoyed 
me  that  you  entered  that  garden,  though  it  was  very 


DEATH’S  AGONY  AFTER  LIFE’S  AGONY,  485 


foolish  of  me,  as  I showed  you  the  house ; and  then, 
too,  I ought  to  have  remembered  that  a young  gentle- 
man like  you  — ” 

She  broke  off,  and  leaping  over  the  gloomy  transi- 
tions which  her  mind  doubtless  contained,  she  added 
Avith  a heart-rending  smile,  — 

“ You  thought  me  ugly,  did  you  not  ? ” 

Then  she  continued,  — 

“ You  are  lost,  and  no  one  will  leave  the  barricade 
noAV.  I brought  you  here,  you  knoAV,  and  you  are 
going  to  die,  I feel  sure  of  it.  And  yet,  when  I saw 
the  soldier  aiming  at  you,  I laid  my  hand  on  the 
muzzle  of  his  gun.  How  droll  that  is ! But  the  rear 
son  was  that  I Avished  to  die  Avith  you.  |~ When  I 
received  that  bullet  I dragged  myself  here,  and  as 
no  one  saw  me  I was  not  picked  up.  I Avaited  for 
you  and  said,  ‘ Will  he  not  come  ? ’ Oh,  if  you  only 
knew  hoAV  I bit  my  blouse,  for  I was  suffering  so 
terribly  ! But  noAV  I feel  all  right.  Do  you  remember 
the  day  Avhen  I came  into  your  room  and  looked  at 
myself  in  your  glass,  and  the  day  when  I met  you 
on  the  bouleA’ard  near  the  washerAvomen  ? Hoav  the 
birds  sang  ! and  it  is  not  so  very  long  ago.  You  gave 
me  five  francs,  and  I said  to  you,  ‘ I do  not  Avant 
your  money.’  I hope  you  picked  up  your  coin,  for 
you  are  not  rich,  and  I did  not  think  of  telling  you 
to  pick  it  up.  The  sun  Avas  shining  and  it  was  not 
at  all  cold.  Do  you  remember.  Monsieur  ]\Iarius  ? 
01^  I am  so  happy,  for  everybody  is  going  to  die  \’^ 
iShe  had  a Avild,  grave,  and  heart-rending  look,^ 
and  her  ragged  blouse  displayed  her  naked  throa^ 
While  speaking,  she  laid  her  wounded  hand  on  her  . 


486 


THE  liUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


chest,  in  which  there  was  another  hole,  and  whence 
every  moment  a stream  of  blood  spirted  like  a jet  of 
wine  from  an  open  bung,  hlarius  gazed  at  this  un- 
fortunate creature  with  profound  compassion. 

“ Oh,”  she  suddenly  continued,  “ it  is  coming 
back  ! I sulfocate  ! ” 

She  raised  her  blouse  and  bit  it,  and  her  limbs 
stiffened  on  the  pavement.  At  this  moment  Ga- 
vroche’s  crowing  voice  could  be  heard  from  the 
barricade ; the  lad  had  got  on  to  a table  to  load 
his  musket,  ahd  was  gayly  singing  the  song  so  popu- 
lar at  that  day, — 

“ En  voyant  Lafayette, 

Le  gendarme  repete : 

Sauvons-nous  ! sauvous-nous  ! sauvons-nous ! 

Eponine  raised  herself  and  listened ; then  she 
muttered,  — 

“ It  is  he.” 

And,  turning  to  Marius,  added,  — 

“ My  brother  is  here,  but  he  must  not  see  me,  or 
he  would  scold  me.” 

“Your  brother?”  Marius  asked,  as  he  thought 
most  bitterly  and  sadly  of  the  duties  toward  the 
Thenardiers  whieh  his  father  had  left  him ; “ which 
is  your  brother? ” 

“ That  little  fellow.” 

“ The  one  who  is  singing  ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

Marius  made  a move. 

“ Oh,  do  not  go  away ! ” she  said ; “ it  will  not  be 
long  just  now.” 


DEATH’S  AGONY  AFTER  LIFE’S  AGONY.  487 

She  was  almost  sitting  up,  but  her  voice  was 
very  low,  and  every  now  and  then  interrupted  by 
the  death-rattle.  She  put  her  face  as  close  as  she 
could  to  that  of  Marius,  and  added  with  a strange 
expression,  — 

“ Come,  I will  not  play  you  a trick  : I have  had  a 
letter  addressed  to  you  in  my  pocket  since  yesterday ; 
I was  told  to  put  it  in  the  post,  but  kept  it,  as  I did 
not  wish  it  to  reach  you.  But  perhaps  you  will  not 
be  angry  with  me  when  we  meet  again  ere  long,  for 
we  shall  meet  again,  shall  we  not  ? Take  your 
letter.” 

She  convulsively  seized  Marius’s  hand  with  her 
wounded  hand,  but  seemed  no  longer  to  feel  the 
suffering.  She  placed  IMarius’s  hand  in  her  blouse 
pocket,  and  he  really  felt  a paper. 

“ Take  it,”  she  said. 

Marius  took  the  letter,  and  she  gave  a nod  of  satis- 
faction and  consolation. 

“ Now,  for  my  trouble,  promise  me  — ” 

And  she  stopped. 

“ What  ? ” Marius  asked. 

“ Promise  me  ! ” 

“ I do  promise  ! ” 

“ Promise  to  kiss  me  on  the  forehead  when  I am 
dead;  I shall  feel  it.” 

She  let  her  head  fall  again  on  Marius’s  knees  and 
her  eyes  closed ; he  fancied  the  poor  soul  departed. 
Eponine  remained  motionless ; but  all  at  once,  at 
the  moment  when  Marius  believed  her  eternally 
asleep,  she  slowly  opened  her  eyes,  on  which  the 
gloomy  profundity  of  death  was  visible,  and  said  to 


488 


THE  EUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


liim  with  an  accent  whose  gentleness  seemed  already 
to  come  from  another  world,  — 

“ And  then,  look  you.  Monsieur  Marius,  I think 
that  I was  a little  in  love  with  you.” 

She  tried  to  smile  once  more,  and  expired. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


GAVROCHE  CALCULATES  DISTANCES. 

Marius  kept  his  promise  ; he  deposited  a kiss 
on  this  liHd  foreiiead,  upon  which  an  icy  perspiration 
beaded.  It  was  not  an  infidelity  to  Cosette,  but  a 
pensive  and  sweet  farewell  to  an  unhappy  soul.  He 
had  not  taken  witliout  a quiver  the  letter  which 
Eponine  gave  him  ; for  he  at  once  suspected  an  event 
in  it,  and  was  impatient  to  read  it.  The  heart  of 
man  is  so  constituted,  — and  the  unfortunate  child 
had  scarce  closed  her  eyes  ere  JMarius  thought  of 
unfolding  the  paper.  He  gently  laid  her  on  the 
ground  and  went  off,  for  something  told  him  that 
he  could  not  read  this  letter  in  the  presence  of  a 
corpse.  He  walked  up  to  a candle  on  the  ground- 
floor  room  ; it  was  a little  note  folded  and  sealed 
with  the  elegant  care  peculiar  to  women.  The  address 
was  in  a feminine  handwriting,  and  ran,  ■ — 

“ To  Monsieur  JMarius  Pontmercy,  at  M.  Courfey- 
rac’s,  Vo.  16,  Rue  de  la  Yerrerie.” 

He  broke  the  seal  and  read  : — 

“My  Well-beloved,  — Alas!  my  father  insists 
on  our  going  away  at  once.  We  shall  be  tliis  even- 
ing at  No.  7,  Rue  de  1 Homme  Arm  A In  a week 
we  shall  be  in  England.  Cosette.” 

“June  4.” 


490 


THE  HUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


Sucli  was  the  innocence  of  their  love,  that  Marius 
did  not  even  know  Cosette’s  handwriting. 

What  had  happened  may  be  told  in  a few  words. 
Eponine  had  done  it  all.  After  the  night  of  June  3 
she  had  had  a double  thought,  — to  foil  the  plans 
of  her  father  and  the  bandits  upon  the  house  in  the 
Hue  Plumet,  and  separate  Marius  and  Cosette.  She 
had  changed  rags  with  the  first  scamp  she  met,  who 
thought  it  amusing  to  dress  up  as  a woman,  while 
Eponine  disguised  herself  as  a man.  It  was  she 
who  gave  Jean  Valjean  the  expressive  warning, 
“ Remove  ! ” and  he  had  gone  straight  home  and 
said  to  Cosette,  “ We  shall  start  this  evening  and 
go  to  the  Rue  de  fHomme  Ai’ine  with  Toussaint. 
Next  week  we  shall  be  in  London.”  Cosette,  startled 
by  this  unexpected  blow,  had  hastily  written  two 
lines  to  Marius,  but  how  was  she  to  put  the  letter  in 
the  post  ? She  nevei'  went  out  alone,  and  Toussaint, 
surprised  by  such  an  errand,  would  certainly  show 
the  letter  to  M.  Eauchelevent.  In  this  state  of 
anxiety,  Cosette  noticed  through  the  railings  Eponine 
in  male  clothes,  who  now  incessantly  prowled  round 
the  garden.  Cosette  had  summoned  “ this  young 
workman,”  and  given  him  the  letter  and  a five-franc 
piece,  saying,  “ Carry  this  letter  at  once  to  its 
address,”  and  Eponine  put  the  letter  in  her  pocket. 
The  next  day  she  went  to  Courfeyrac’s  and  asked 
for  Marius,  not  to  hand  him  the  letter,  but  “ to  see,” 
— a thing  which  every  jealous,  loving  soul  will  under- 
stand. There  she  waited  for  Marius,  or  at  any  rate 
Courfeyrac  — always  to  see.  When  Courfeyrac  said 
to  her,  “ We  are  going  to  the  barricades,”  an  idea 


GAVROCHE  CALCULATES  DISTANCES.  491 


crossed  her  mind,  — to  throw  Iierself  into  this  death 
as  she  would  have  done  into  any  other,  and  thrust 
iNIarius  into  it.  She  followed  Courfeyrac,  assured 
herself  of  the  spot  where  the  barricade  was  being 
built,  and  feeling  certain,  since  Marius  had  not 
received  the  letter,  that  he  would  go  at  uightMl 
to  the  usual  meeting-place,  she  went  to  the  Rue 
Plumet,  waited  for  Marius  there,  and  gave  him  that 
summons  in  the  name  of  his  friends,  which,  as  she 
thought,  must  lead  him  to  the  barricade.  She  reck- 
oned on  Marius’s  despair  when  he  did  not  find  Cosette, 
and  she  was  not  mistaken,  and  then  she  returned  to 
the  Rue  de  la  Chauvrerie.  We  have  just  seen  what 
she  did  there  ; she  died  with  the  tragic  joy  of  jealous 
hearts,  which  drag  the  beloved  being  down  to  death 
with  them  and  say,  “No  one  shall  have  him  ! ” 

Marius  covered  Cosette’ s letter  with  kisses  ; she 
loved  him,  then,  and  for  a moment  he  had  an  idea 
that  he  ought  uot  to  die  ; but  then  he  said  to  him- 
self, “ Her  father  is  taking  her  to  England,  and  my 
grandfather  will  not  give  his  consent  to  the  marriage  ; 
no  change  has  taken  place  in  fatality.”  [^Dreamers  like 
Marius  undergo  such  supreme  despondencies,  and 
desperate  resolves  issue  from  them  ; the  fatigue  of 
living  is  insupportable,  and  death  is  sooner  over. 
Then  he  thought  that  two  duties  were  left  him  to 
accom^jlish,  — inform  Cosette  of  his  death  and  send 
her  his  last  farewell,  and  save  from  the  imminent 
catastrophe  which  was  preparing,  that  poor  boy, 
Eponine’s  brother  and  Thenardier’s  son.  He  had  a 
pocket-book  about  him,/  the  same  which  had  con- 
tained the  paper  on  which  he  had  written  so  many 


492 


THE  EUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


love-thoughts  for  Cosett^  he  tore  out  a leaf,  and 
wrote  ill  pencil  these  few  lines, — 

“ Our  marriage  Avas  impossible  ; I asked  my  grand- 
father’s consent,  and  he  refused  to  give  it  ; I have  no 
fortune,  nor  have  you.  I ran  to  your  house,  aud  did 
not  find  you  there  ; you  remember  the  pledge  I made 
to  you,  and  I have  kept  it.  I die.  I loA'e  you  ; and 
when  you  read  this  my  soul  Avill  be  near  you  and 
smile  upon  you.” 

Having  nothing  with  which  to  seal  this  letter,  he 
merely  folded  it,  and  wrote  on  it  the  address ; — 

“ To  Mademoiselle  Cosette  Fauchelevent,  at  M. 
Faucheleveiit’s,  No.  7,  Rue  de  1’ Homme  Arm6.” 

The  letter  folded,  he  stood  for  a moment  in 
thought,  then  opened  his  pocket-book  again,  and 
Avrote  with  the  same  pencil  these  lines  on  the  first 
page. 

“ My  name  is  Marius  Poutmercy.  Carry  my  body 
to  my  grandfather,  M.  Gillenormand,  No.  6,  Rue  des 
Filles  dll  Calvaire,  in  the  Marais.” 

He  returned  the  book  to  his  coat  pocket,  and  then 
summoned  Gavroche.  The  lad,  on  hearing  Marius’s 
voiee,  ran  up  Avith  his  joyous  and  devoted  face. 

“ Will  you  do  something  for  me  ? ” 

“ EA^erything,”  said  Gavroche.  “God  of  Gods  ! 
my  goose  Avould  have  been  cooked  without  you.” 

“ You  see  this  letter  ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Take  it.  Leave  the  barricade  at  once,”  — Ga- 
vroche began  scratching  his  ear  anxiously,  — “and 
to-morrow  morning  you  will  deliver  it  at  its  address^ 
No.  7,  Rue  de  1’ Homme  Arm^.” 


GAVROCHE  CALCULATES  DISTANCES.  493 


The  heroic  lad  replied,  — 

“Well,  but  during  that  time  the  barricade  will  be 
attacked,  and  I shall  not  be  here.” 

“ The  barricade  will  not  be  attacked  again  till  day- 
break, according  to  all  appearances,  and  will  not  be 
taken  till  to-morrow  afternoon.” 

The  new  respite  which  the  assailants  granted  to  the 
barricade  was  really  prolonged  ; it  was  one  of  those 
intermissions  frequent  in  night- fights,  which  are  al- 
ways followed  by  redoubled  obstinac^/ 

“ Well,”  said  Gavroche,  “suppose  I were  to  deliver 
your  letter  to-morrow  morning  ? ” 

“ It  will  be  too  late,  for  the  barricade  will  probably 
be  blockaded,  all  the  issues  guarded,  and  you  will  be 
unable  to  get  out.  Be  off  at  once.” 

Gavroche  could  not  find  any  reply,  (^p_  he  stood 
there  undecided,  and  scratching  his  head  sorrowfully. 
All  at  once  he  seized  the  letter  with  one  of  those 
bird-like  movements  of  his. 

“ All  right,”  he  said. 

And  he  ran  off  toward  the  Mondetour  lane. 
Gavroche  had  an  idea  which  decided  him,  but  which 
he  did  not  mention  ; it  was  the  following  : — 

“ It  is  scarce  midnight ; the  Rue  de  1’ Homme  Arm^ 
is  no  great  distance  off.  I will  deliver  the  letter  at 
once,  and  be  back  in  time.”  ] 


BOOK  XV. 

THE  RUE  DE  UHOMME  ARME. 


CHAPTER  I. 

BLOTTING,  BLABBING. 

AVhat  are  the  convulsions  of  a city  compared 
with  the  convulsions  of  a soul?  Man  is  even  a 
greater  profundity  than  the  people.  Jean  Valjean 
at  this  very  moment  was  suffering  from  a frightful 
internal  earthquake,  and  all  the  gulfs  were  reopened 
within  him.  He  too  was  quivering,  like  Paris,  on 
the  threshold  of  a formidable  and  obscure  revolution. 
A few  hours  had  sufficed  to  cover  his  destiny  and 
his  conscience  with  shadows,  and  of  him,  as  of  Paris, 
it  might  be  said,  “ The  two  principles  are  face  to 
face.”  The  white  angel  and  the  black  angel  are 
about  to  wrestle  with  each  other  on  the  brink  of  the 
abyss ; which  will  hurl  the  other  down  ? 

On  the  evening  of  that  same  day,  Jean  Valjean, 
accompanied  by  Cosette  and  Toussaint,  proceeded  to 
the  Rue  de  I’Homme  Arm4,  where  a tremendous 
incident  was  fated  to  take  place.  tCogette  had  not 
left  the  Rue  Plumet  without  an  attempt  at  resist- 
ance, and  for  the  first  time  since  they  had  lived 


BLOTTING,  BLABBING. 


495 


together,  the  will  of  Cosette  and  the  will  of  Jean 
Vaijean  had  shown  themselves  distinct,  and  had  con- 
tradicted each  other,  though  they  did  not  come  into 
collision.  There  was  objection  on  one  side  and  in- 
flexibility on  the  other  : for  the  abrupt  counsel, 
“Remove ! ” thrown  to  Jean  Vaijean  by  a stranger,  had 
alarmed  him  to  such  a point  as  to  render  him  absor 
lute.  He  fancied  himself  tracked  and  pursued,  and 
Cosette  was  compelled  to  yield.  The  pair  reached 
the  Rue  de  FHomme  Arm^  without  exchanging  a 

O o 


syllable,  for  each  was  so  deep  in  personal  thought, 
while  Jean  Vaijean  was  so  anxious  that  he  did  not 
notice  Cosette’s  sadness,  and  Cosette  was  so  sad  that 
she  did  not  notice  Jean  Valjean’s  anxie^Tj  Jeaii 
Vaijean  had  brought  Toussaint  wdth  him,  which  he 
had  never  done  in  his  previous  absences,  but  he  fore- 
saw’ that  he  might  possibly  never  return  to  the  Rue 
Plumet,  and  he  could  neither  leave  Toussaint  behind 
him  nor  tell  her  his  secret.  jMoreover,  he  felt  her  to 
be  devoted  and  sure  ; the  treachery  of  a servant  to 
a master  begins  with  curiosity,  and  Toussaint,  as  if 
predestined  to  be  Jean  Valjean’s  servant,  W’as  not 
curious.  She  was  wont  to  say  through  her  stammer- 
ing uT^er  patois  of  a Barnevdlle  peasant “ I am  so, 
I do  my  work,  and  the  rest  does  not  concern  me.” 
In  his  departure  fi’ora  the  Rue  Plumet,  which  was 
almost  a flight,  Jean  Vaijean  took  away  with  him 
nothing  but  the  fragrant  little  portmanteau,  chris- 
tened by  Cosette  the  “ inseparable.”  Packed  trunks 
would  have  required  porters,  and  porters  are  "wit- 
nesses ; a hacknev-coach  had  been  called  to  the  grate 
in  the  Rue  de  Babylone  and  they  went  away  in  it- 


/ 


496 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


It  was  with  great  difficulty  that  Toussaint  obtained 
permission  to  pack  up  a little  stock  of  linen  and 
clothes,  and  a few  toilet  articles;  Cosette  herself 
only  took  her  desk  and  blotting-book.  JeanValjean, 
in  order  to  heighten  the  solitude  and  mystery  of  this 
disappearance,  had  so  arranged  as  to  leave  the  Rue 
Plurnet  at  nightfall,  which  had  given  Cosette  the 
time  to  write  her  note  to  Marius.  They  reached  the 
Rue  de  I Homme  Arm4  when  it  was  quite  dark/^tffi 
went  to  bed  in  perfect  silence. 

The  apartments  in  this  street  were  situated  on  a 
second  floor  in  a back-yard,  and  consisted  of  two 
bed-rooms,  a dining-room,  and  a kitchen  adjoining, 
with  a closet  in  which  was  a flock-bed,  that  fell  to 
the  lot  of  Toussaint.  The  dining-room  was  at  the 
same  time  ante-room  and  separated  the  two  bed- 
rooms, and  the  apartments  were  provided  with  the 
necessary  articles  of  furniture^  Human  nature  is  so 
constituted  that  men  become  reassured  almost  as 
absurdly  as  they  are  alarmed  ; hence  Jean  Valjean 
had  scarce  reached  the  Rue  de  THomme  Arme  ere 
his  anxie^  cleared  away  and  was  gradually  dissi- 
pated. ^liere  are  calming  places  which  act  to  some 
extent  mechanically  on  the  mind,  and  when  a street 
is  obscure  the  inhabitants  are  peaceful.  JeanValjean 
felt  a contagious  tranquillity  in  this  lane  of  old  Paris, 
which  is  so  narrow  that  it  is  barred  against  vehicles  by 
a cross-beam,  which  is  dumb  and  deaf  amid  the  noisy 
town,  full  of  twilight  in  broad  daylight,  and,  so  to 
speak,  incapable  of  feeling  emotions  between  its  two 
rows  of  tall  centenary  houses,  which  are  silent  like  old 
folks  are.  There  is  in  this  street  a stagnant  oblivion, 


BLOTTING,  BLABBING. 


497 


and  Jean  Valjean  breathed  again  in  it,  for  how  was 
it  possible  that  lie  could  be  found  ther^l  His  first  '</ 
care  was  to  place  the  “ inseparable  ” by  his  side  ; he 
slept  soundly,  and  night  counsels,  we  might  add, 
night  appeases.  The  next  morning  he  woke  up 
almost  gay.  He  considered  the  dining-room  charm- 
ing, though  it  was  hideous,  for  it  was  furnished  with 
an  old  round  table,  a low  side-board  surmounted  by 
a mirror,  a rickety  easy-chair,  and  a few  chairs 
encumbered  with  Toussaint’s  parcels.  In  one  of 
these  parcels  Jean  Yaljean’s  Xational  Guard  uniform 
could  be  seen  through  an  opening. 

As  for  Cosette,  she  ordered  Toussaint  to  bring  a 
basin  of  broth  to  her  bed-room,  and  did  not  make 
her  appearance  till  evening.  At  about  five  o’clock, 
Toussaint,  who  went  about  very  busy  with  getting 
things  to  rights,  placed  a eold  fowl  on  the  dinner- 
table,  wliich  Cosette  consented  to  look  at,  through 
deference  for  her  father.  This  done,  Cosette  pro- 
testing a persistent  headaclie,  said  good-night  to 
Jean  Valjean,  and  shut  herself  up  in  her  bed-room. 
Jean  Valjean  ate  a wing  of  the  fowl  with  appetite, 
and  with  his  elbows  on  the  table,  and  gradually 
growing  reassured,  regained  possession  of  his  seren- 
ity. While  he  was  eating  this  modest  dinner,  he 
vaguely  heard  twice  or  thrice  stammering  Toussaint 
say  to  him,  “ There  is  a disturbance,  sir,  and  people 
are  fighting  in  Paris.”  But,  absorbed  in  a multitude 
of  internal  combinations,  he  had  paid  no  attention  to 
her ; truth  to  tell,  he  had  not  heard  her.  He  rose 
and  began  walking  from  the  door  to  the  window, 
and  from  the  window  to  the  door  with  calmness. 


498 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


Cosette,  his  sole  preoccupation,  reverted  to  his  mind, 
not  that  he  was  alarmed  by  this  headache,  a slight 
nervous  attack,  a girl  s pouting,  a momentary  cloud, 
which  would  disappear  iii  a day  or  two,  but  he 
thought  of  the  future,  and,  as  usual,  thought  of  it 
gently.  After  all,  he  saw  no  obstacle  to  his  iiappy 
life  resuming  its  course ; at  certain  hours  everything 
seems  impossible,  at  others  everything  appears  easy, 
and  Jean  Yaljean  was  in  one  of  those  good  hours. 
They  usually  arrive  after  bad  hours,  as  day  does 
after  night,  through  that  law  of  succession  and  con- 
trast which  is  the  basis  of  our  nature,  and  which 
superficial  minds  call  antithesis.  In  this  peaceful 
street  where  he  had  sought  shelter,  Jean  Yaljean 
freed  himself  from  all  that  had  troubled  him  for  some 
time  past,  and  from  the  very  fact  that  he  had  seen 
so  much  darkness  he  was  beginning  to  perceive  a 
little  azure.  To  have  left  the  Rue  Plumet  without 
any  complication  or  incident  was  a good  step  gained, 
and  perhaps  it  would  be  wise  to  leave  the  country, 
were  it  only  for  a few  months,  and  go  to  London. 
Well,  they  would  go ; what  did  he  care  whether  he 
Avere  in  England  or  France,  provided  that  he  had 
Cosette  by  his  side?  Cosette  was  his  nation,  Cosette 
sufficed  for  his  happiness,  and  the  idea  that  he  per- 
haps did  not  suffice  for  Cosette’s  happiness,  that  idea 
which  had  formerly  been  his  fever  and  sleeplessness, 
did  not  even  present  itself  to  his  mind.  All  his  past 
sorrows  had  collapsed,  and  he  was  in  the  centre  of 
optimism.  Cosette,  being  by  his  side,  seemed  to  be 
his,  and  this  is  an  optical  effect  which  everybody  has 
experienced.  He  arranged  in  his  mind,  and  Avith  all 


BLOTTING,  BLABBING. 


499 


possible  facility,  the  departure  for  England  with 
Cosette,  and  he  saw  his  felicity  reconstructed,  no 
matter  where,  in  the  perspectives  of  his  reveri^ 

While  slowly  walking  up  and  down,  his  eye  sud- 
denly fell  on  something  strange.  He  noticed,  facing 
him  in  the  inclined  mirror  over  the  side-board,  and 
read  distinctly : — 

“ Mt  Well-beloved,  — Alas  ! my  father  insists 
on  our  going  away  at  once.  We  shall  be  this  even- 
ing at  No.  7,  Rue  de  rHoumie  Armd  In  a week 
we  sliall  be  in  England.  Cosette.” 

“•  June  4.” 

Jean  Yaljean  stopped  with  haggard  gaze.  Co- 
sette, on  arriving,  had  laid  her  blotting-book  on  the 
side-board  facing  the  mirror,  and,  immersed  in  her 
painful  thoughts,  had  forgotten  it,  without  even  no- 
ticing that  she  had  left  it  open  at  the  very  page  on 
which  she  had  dried  the  few  lines  she  had  VTitten 
and  intrusted  to  the  young  workman  passing  along 
the  Rue  Pluinet.  The  writing  was  imprinted  on  the 
blotting-paper  and  the  mirror  reflected  the  writing. 
The  result  was  what  is  called  in  geometry  a sym- 
metric image,  so  that  the  writing  reversed  on  the 
blotting-paper  was  placed  straight  in  the  mirror,  and 
offered  its  natural  direction,  and  Jean  Yaljean  had 
before  his  eyes  the  letter  written  on  the  previous 
evening  by  Cosette  to  Marius.  It  was  simple  and 
crushing.  Jean  Yaljean  walked  up  to  the  mirror 
and  read  the  lines  again,  but  did  not  believe  in  them. 
They  produced  on  him  the  effect  of  appearing  in  a 
flash  of  lightning : it  was  an  halhicination ; it  was 


500 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


impossible ; it  was  not.  Gradually  bis  perception 
became  more  precise,  he  looked  at  Cosette’s  blotting- 
book,  and  the  feeling  of  the  real  fact  returned  to  liim. 

THe  took  up  the  blotting-book,  saying,  “ It  comes 
from  that.”  He  feverishly  examined  the  lines  im- 
printed on  the  blotting-paper,  but  as  they  ran  back- 
ward he  could  see  no  meaning  in  the  strange  scrawl. 
Then  he  said  to  himself,  “ Why,  it  means  nothing ; 
there  is  nothing  written  there.”  And  he  drew  a long 
breath  Avith  inexpressible  relief.  Who  has  not  felt 
such  wild  delight  in  horrible  moments?  The  soul 
does  not  surrender  to  despair  till  it  has  exhausted 
every  illusion. 

He  held  the  book  in  his  hand  and  gazed  at  it,  stu- 
pidly happy,  almost  ready  to  laugh  at  the  hallucina- 
tion of  which  he  had  been  the  dupe^  All  at  once 
his  eyes  fell  again  on  the  mirror,  and  he  saw  tlic 
vision  again  ;£the  lines  stood  on  it  Avith  inexorable 
clearness.  This  time  it  was  no  mirage,  it  was  palpa- 
bly it  was  the  writing  turned  straight  in  the  mirror, 
and  he  comprehended  the  fact.  Jean  Valjean  tot- 
tered, let  the  blotting-book  slip  from  his  grasp,  and 
fell  into  the  old  easy-chair  by  the  side  of  the  side- 
board with  hanging  head  and  glassy,  Avandering  eye. 
He  said  to  himself  that  it  Avas  CAudent  that  the  light 
of  this  world  was  eclipsed,  and  that  Cosette  had 
written  that  to  somebody.  Then  he  heard  his  soul, 
which  had  become  terrible  again,  utter  a hoarse  roar 
in  the  darkness.  Just  attempt  to  take  from  the  lion 
the  dog  he  has  in  his  cage  ! Strange,  and  sad  to  say, 
at  that  moment  Marius  had  not  yet  received  Cosette’s 
letter,  and  accident  had  treacherously  carried  it  to 


BLOTTING,  BLABBING. 


501 


Jean  Valjean  before  delivering  it  to  Marius.  Jean 
Valjean  np  to  that  clay  had  never  been  conquered  by 
a trial ; he  had  been  subjected  to  frightful  assaults, 
not  a blow  of  evil  fortune  had  been  spared  him,  and 
the  ferocity  of  fate,  armed  with  all  social  revenge  and 
contempt,  had  taken  him  for  its  victim  and  furi- 
ously attacked  him.  He  had  accepted,  when  it 
was  necessary,  every  extremity ; he  had  surrendered 
his  reacquired  iuHolability  as  man,  given  up  his 
liberty,  risked  his  head,  lost  everything  and  suffered 
everything,  and  he  had  remained  disinterested  and 
stoical  to  such  an  extent  that  at  times  he  seemed 
to  be  oblivious  of  self,  like  a martyr.  His  conscience, 
hardened  to  all  possible  assaults  of  adversity,  might 
seem  quite  impreguable;  but  any  one  who  had  now 
gazed  into  his  heart  would  have  been  compelled  to 
allow  that  it  was  growing  weak.  In  truth,  of  all  the 
tortures  he  had  undergone  in  this  long  trial  to  which 
fate  subjected  him,  this  was  the  most  formidable, 
and  never  had  such  a vise  held  him  before.  He  felt 
the  mysterious  agitation  of  all  his  latent  sensibilities, 
he  felt  the  twitching  of  an  unknown  fibre.  Alas ! 
the  supreme  trial,  we  may  say  the  sole  trial,  is  the 
loss  of  the  being  whom  we  love. 

^ Poor  old  Jean  Valjean  did  not  assuredly  love  Co- 
sette  otherwise  than  as  a father;  but,  as  we  have 
already  remarked,  the  very  widowhood  of  his  life 
had  introduced  all  the  forms  of  love  into  this  pater- 
nity ; he  loved  Cosette  as  his  daughter,  loved  her  as 
his  mother,  and  loved  her  as  his  sister,  and,  as  he 
had  never  had  a mistress  or  a wife,  that  feeling  too, 
the  most  clinging  of  all,  was  mingled  with  the  others. 


502 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


vague,  ignorant,  pure  with  the  purity  of  blindness, 
unconscious,  heavenly,  angelic,  and  divine,  less  as  a 
feeling  than  an  instinct,  less  as  an  instinct  than  an 
attraction,  imperceptible,  invisible,  but  real ; and  love, 
properly  so  called,  was  in  his  enormous  tenderness 
for  Cosette  as  the  vein  of  gold  is  in  the  mountain, 
dark  and  virginal.  Our  readers  must  study  for  a 
moment  this  state  of  the  heart ; no  marriage  was 
possible  between  them,  not  even  that  of  souls,  and 
yet  it  is  certain  that  their  destinies  were  wedded. 
Excepting  Cosette,  that  is  to  say,  excepting  a child- 
hood, Jean  Valjean,  during  the  whole  of  his  life, 
had  known  nothing  about  things  that  may  be  loved. 
Those  passions  and  loves  which  succeed  each  other 
had  not  produced  in  him  those  successive  stages  of 
green,  light  green,  or  dark  green,  which  may  be  no- 
ticed on  leaves  that  survive  the  winter,  and  in  men 
who  pass  their  fiftieth  year.  In  fine,  as  we  have 
more  than  once  urged,  all  this  internal  fusion,  all  this 
ensemble,  whose  resultant  was  a lofty  virtue,  ended 
by  making  Jean  Valjean  a father  to  Cosette,  — a 
strange  father,  forged  out  of  the  grandsire,  the  son, 
the  brother,  and  the  husband,  which  were  in  Jean 
Valjean  ; a father  in  whom  there  was  even  a mother ; 
a father  who  loved  Cosette  and  adored  her,  and  who 
had  this  child  for  his  light,  his  abode,  his  family,  his 
country,  and  his  paradise.  Hence,  when  he  saw  that 
it  was  decidedly  ended,  that  she  was  escaping  from 
him,  slipping  through  his  fingers,  concealing  herself, 
that  she  was  a cloud,  that  she  was  water ; when  he 
had  before  his  eyes  this  crushing  evidence  : “ Another 
is  the  object  of  her  heart,  another  is  the  wish  of 


BLOTTING,  BLABBING. 


503 


lier  life,  she  has  a lover,  I am  only  the  father,  I 
no  longer  exist ; ” when  he  could  no  longer  doubt, 
when  he  said  to  himself,  “ She  is  leaving  me,”  the 
sorrow  he  experienced  went  beyond  the  limits  of 
the  possible.  To  have  done  all  that  he  had  done  to 
attain  this,  and  to  be  nothing ! Then,  as  we  have 
just  stated,  he  had  a quivering  of  revolt  from  head 
to  foot ; he  felt  even  in  the  roots  of  his  hair  the  im- 
mense reawaking  of  selfishness,  and  the  “ I ” yelled 
in  the  depths  of  this  man’s  soul. 

There  are  such  things  as  internal  earthquakes  ; the 
penetration  of  a desperate  certainty  into  a man  is  not 
effected  without  removing  and  breaking  certain  pro- 
found elements  which  are  at  times  the  man  himself. 
Grief,  when  it  attains  that  pitch,  is  a frantic  flight  of  all 
the  forces  of  the  conscience,  and  such  crises  are  fatal. 
Few  among  us  emerge  from  them  equal  to  ourselves 
and  firm  in.  our  duty  ; for  when  the  limit  of  snffering 
is  exceeded,  the  most  imperturbable  virtue  is  discon- 
certed. Jean  Valjean  took  up  the  blotting-book  and 
con’sdnced  himself  afresh  ; he  bent  down  as  if  petri- 
fied, and  with  fixed  eye,  over  the  undeniable  lines, 
and  such  a cloud  collected  within  him  that  it  might 
be  believed  that  the  whole  interior  of  his  soul  was  in 
a state  of  collapse.  He  examined  this  revelation 
through  the  exaggerations  of  reverie  with  an  apparent 
and  startling  calmness,  for  it  is  a formidable  thing 
when  a man’s  calmness  attains  the  coldness  of  a 
statue_j^  He  measured  the  frightful  step  which  his 
destiny  had  taken  without  any  suspicion  on  his  part, 
he  recalled  his  fears  of  the  past  summer,  so  madly 
dissipated,  he  recognized  the  precipice;  it  was  still 


504 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


the  same,  but  Jean  Valjean  was  no  longer  at  the  top 
but  at  the  bottom.  It  was  an  extraordinary  and 
crushing  fact  that  he  had  fallen  without  perceiving 
it,  the  Avhole  light  of  his  life  had  fled  while  he  still 
fancied  he  could  see  the  sun.  His  instinct  did  not 
hesitate  ; he  brought  together  certain  circumstance.s, 
certain  dates,  certain  blushes,  and  certain  palenesses 
of  Cosette,  and  said  to  himself,  “ It  is  he  ! ” CThc 
divination  of  despair  is  a species  of  mysterious  bow 
which  never  misses  its  mark,  amllunth  its  first  shaft 
it  hit  Marius.  He  did  not  know  the  name,  but  at 
once  found  the  man ; he  perceived  distinctly  at 
the  bottom  of  the  implacable  evocation  of  memory 
the  unknown  prowler  of  the  Luxembourg,  that  villa- 
nous  seeker  of  amourettes,  that  romantic  idler,  that  im- 
becile, that  coward, — for  it  is  cowardice  to  exchange 
loving  glances  with  girls  who  have  by  their  side  a 
father  who  loves  them.  ^After  feeling  quite  certain 
that  this  young  man  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  situa- 
tion, and  that  all  this  came  from  him,  Jean  Valjean, 
the  regenerated  man,  the  man  who  had  toiled  so 
heavily  in  his  soul,  the  man  who  had  made  so  many 
efforts  to  resolve  his  whole  life,  his  whole  misery,  and 
his  whole  misfortune  into  love,  looked  into  himself 
and  saw  there  a spectre  — hatred. 

Great  griefs  contain  exhaustion,  and  discourage  us 
with  life ; the  man  into  whom  they  enter  feels  some- 
thing retire  from  him.  In  youth  their  visit  is  mourn- 
ful, at  a later  date  it  is  sinister.  Alas!  when  the 
blood  is  hot,  when  the  hair  is  black,  when  the  head 
is  upright  on  the  body  like  the  flame  on  the  candle, 
when  the  heart,  full  of  a yearning  love,  still  has  pal- 


BLOTTING,  BLABBING. 


505 


pitations  wliich  may  be  given  to  it  in  return,  when  a 
man  has  time  to  recover  from  tlie  wound,  when  all 
women  are  there,  and  all  the  smiles,  and  all  the  fu- 
ture, and  the  whole  horizon,  when  the  strength  of  life  is 
complete, — if  despair  be  a frightful  thing  under  such 
circumstances,  what  is  it  then  in  old  age,  when  years 
are  growing  more  and  more  livid,  at  that  twilight  hour 
when  the  stars  of  the  tomb  are  beginning  to  become 
visible_0  While  Jean  Yaljean  was  thinking,  Tous- 
saiut  came  in  ; he  rose  and  asked  her,  — 
n “ Do  you  know  whereabout  it  is  ? ” 

Toussaint,  in  her  stupefaction,  could  only  answer, — 

“ I beg  your  pardon,  sir.” 

Jean  Yaljean  continued, 

“ Did  you  not  say  just  now  that  they  were 
fighting  ? ” 

“ Oh  yes,  sir,”  Toussaint  replied ; “ over  at  St. 
Merry.” 

There  are  some  mechanical  movements  which  come 
to  us,  wdthout  our  cognizance,  from  our  deepest 
thoughts.  It  was  doubtless  under  the  impulse  of  a 
movement  of  this  nature,  of  which  he  was  scarce 
conscious,  that  Jean  Yaljean  found  himself  five  min- 
utes later  in  the  street.  He  was  bareheaded,  and 
sat  down  on  the  bench  before  his  house,  seemingly 
listening. 

Night  had  set  in. 


CHAPTER  II. 


THE  GAJMIN  THE  ENEMY  OF  LAMPS. 

How  long  did  he  remain  there  ? What  was  the 
ehb  and  flow  of  this  tragical  meditation  ? Did  he 
draw  himself  up  ? Did  he  remain  bowed  down  ? Had 
he  been  bent  till  he  was  broken  ? Could  he  recover 
himself  and  stand  again  upon  something  solid  in  his 
eminence  ? Probably  he  could  not  have  said  him- 
self. J The  street  was  deserted,  and  a few  anxious 
citizens  who  hurriedly  returned  home  scarce  noticed 
him,  for  each  for  himself  is  the  rule  in  times  of  peril. 
The  lamplighter  came  as  usual  to  light  the  lamp 
which  was  exactly  opposite  the  door  of  ISTo.  7,  and 
went  away.  Jean  Valjean  would  not  have  appeared 
to  be  a living  man  to  any  one  who  might  have 
examined  him  in  this  gloom,  and  he  sat  on  his  bench 
motionless,  like  a statu^f  ice.  His  despair  had  got 
beyond  congelation.  TThe  tocsin  and  vague  stormy 
rumors  could  be  heard,  and  in  the  midst  of  all  these 
convulsions  of  the  bell  blended  with  the  riot,  the 
clock  of  St.  Paul  struck  the  eleventh  hour,  solemnly 
and  without  hurrying ; for  the  tocsin  is  man,  the 
hour  is  God.  The  passing  of  the  hour  produced  no 
effect  on  Jean  Valjean,  and  he  did  not  st^  Almost 
immediately  after,  however,  a sudden  detonation 


THE  GAMESr  THE  ENEMY  OF  LAMPS.  507 


broke  out  in  tlie  direction  of  the  markets,  followed  by 
a second  even  more  violent ; it  was  probably  that 
attack  on  the  barricade  of  the  Rue  de  la  Chan\Terie 
which  we  have  just  seen  repulsed  by  INIarius.  At 
this  double  discharge,  whose  fury  seemed  increased 
by  the  stupor  of  the  night,  Jean  Valjean  started  ; 
he  turned  in  the  direction  whence  the  sound  came, 
but  then  fell  back  on  his  bench,  crossed  his  arms, 
and  his  head  slowly  bent  down  again  on  his  chest. 
He  resumed  his  dark  dialogue  until  himself. 

All  at  once  he  raised  his  eyes,  for  there  was  some 
one  in  the  street ; he  heard  footsteps  close  to  him, 
and  by  the  light  of  the  lamp  he  perceived  a li^^d, 
young,  and  radiant  face,  in  the  direction  of  the  street 
which  runs  past  the  Archives.  It  was  Gavroche, 
who  had  just  arrived  from  the  Rue  de  la  Chanvrerie  ; 
Ga^TOche  was  looking  up  in  the  air,  and  appeared 
to  be  seeking.  He  saw  JeaiG^iljean  distinctly,  but 
paid  no  attention  to  him.  [Gavroche,  after  looking 
up  in  the  air,  looked  down  on  the  ground  ; he  stood 
on  tiptoe,  and  felt  the  doors  and  ground-floor  win- 
dows ; they  were  all  shut,  bolted,  and  barred. 
After  examining  the  fronts  of  several  houses  barri- 
caded in  this  way,  the  gamin  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
and  then  resumed  his  self-colloquy  with  himself, 

“By  Jove!”  Then  he  looked  up  in  the  air 
Jean  Valjean,  who  a moment  pre\’iously  i 
present  state  of  mind  would  neither  have  spoken 
to  nor  answered  any  one,  felt  an  irresistible  imijulse 
to  address  this  lad. 

“ JMy  little  boy,”  he  said,  “ what  is  the  matter 
■with  you  ? ” 


, thus, 
aga^ 
n his 


508 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


“ Why,  I ’m  hungry,”  Gavroche  answered  bluntly. 
And  he  added,  “ Little  yourself ! ” 

Jean  Valjcan  felt  in  his  pocket  and  pulled  out 
a five-franc  piece.  ^.But  Gavroche,  who  was  a species 
of  wagtail,  and  rapidly  passed  from  one  gesture  to 
another,  had  just  picked  up  a stone.  He  had  noticed 
the  lamp. 

“ Hilloh  ! ” he  said,  “ you  have  still  got  lights  here. 
You  are  not  acting  rightly,  my  friends ; that  is  dis- 
orderly conduct.  Break  it  for  me.” 

And  he  threw  the  stone  at  the  lamp,  whose  glass 
fell  with  such  a noise  that  the  citizens  conoealed 
behind  their  curtains  in  the  opposite  house  cried, 
“ There  is  ’93  ! ” The  lamp  oscillated  violently  and 
went  out ; the  street  suddenly  became  dark. 

“ That ’s  it,  old  street,”  said  Gavroche,  “ put  on 
your  nightcap.”  Then,  turning  to  Jean  Valjean, 
he  said, — 

“ What  do  you  call  that  gigantic  monument  which 
you  have  there  at  the  end  of  the  street  ? It ’s  the 
Archives,  is  n’t  it  ? Let ’s  pull  down  some  of  those 
great  brutes  of  columns  and  make  a tidy  barricade.” 

Jean  Valjean  walked  up  to  Gavroche^]  XX 

“ Poor  creature  ! ’’  he  said  in  a low  voice,  and  as 
if  speaking  to  himself,  “ he  is  hungry.” 

And  he  placed  the  five-franc  piece  in  his  hand. 
Gavroche  raised  his  nose,  amazed  at  the  size  of  this 
double  sou  ; he  looked  at  it  in  the  darkness,  and  tlie 
whiteness  of  the  double  sou  dazzled  him.  He  was 
acquainted  with  five-franc  pieces  by  hearsay,  and 
their  reputation  was  agreeable  to  him  ; he  was 
delighted  to  see  one  so  closely,  |\aiid  said,  “ Let 


THE  GAMIN  THE  ENEMY  OF  LAMPS.  509 


Hs  contemplate  tlie  tiger.”  He  looked  at  it  for 
some  moments  in  ecstasy ; then,  turning  to  Jean 
Valjean,  he  held  out  the  coin  to  him,  and  said 
majestically, — 

“ Citizen,  I prefer  breaking  the  lamps.  Take  back 
your  ferocious  animal,  for  I am  not  to  be  corrupted. 
It  has  five  claws,  but  can’t  scratch  me.” 

“ Have  you  a mother  ? ” Jean  Valjean  asked. 
Gavroche  replied,  — 

“ Perhaps  more  than  you.  ” 

“Well,”  Jean  Valjean  continued,  “keep  that 
money  for  your  mother.” 

Gavroche  was  affected.  IMoreover,  he  had  noticed 
that  the  man  who  was  addressing  him  had  no  hat 
on,  and  this  insinred  him  with  confidence. 

“ Really,  then,”  he  said,  “ it  is  not  to  prevent  me 

breaking  the  lamps  ? ” 

“ Break  as  many  as  you  hkeJJLA 
“ You  are  a worthy  man,”  said  Gavroche. 

And  he  put  the  five-franc  piece  in  one  of  his  pock- 
ets. Then,  with  increasing  confidence,  he  added,  — 

“ Do  you  belong  to  this  street  ? ” 

“ Yes  ; why  ? ” 

“ Can  you  point  me  out  Yo.  7 ? ” 

“ What  do  you  want  at  No.  7 ? ” 

Here  the  lad  stopped,  for  he  feared  lest  he  had 
said  too  much.  He  energetically  plunged  his  nails 
into  his  hair,  and  confined  himself  to  answering,  — 

“ Ah,  there  it  is.” 

An  idea  flashed  across  Jean  Valjean’s  mind,  for 
agony  has  lucidities  of  that  nature.  He  said  to  the 

w.— 


510 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


“ Have  you  brought  me  the  letter  which  I am 
expecting  ? ” 

“You,”  said  Gavroche,  “you  ain’t  a woman.” 

“ The  letter  is  for  Mademoiselle  Cosette,  is  it 
not  ? ” 

“ Cosette  ? ” Gavroche  grumbled  ; “ yes,  I think  it 
is  that  absurd  name.” 

“Well,”  Jean  Valjean  continued,  “you  have  to 
dehveji-the  letter  to  me  ; so  give  it  here.” 
t^n  that  case,  you  must  be  aware  that  I am  sent 
fr^KTithe  barricade  ? ” 

“ Of  course,”  said  Jean  Valjean. 

Gavroche  thrust  his  hand  into  another  of  his  pock- 
ets, and  produced  a square  folded  letter ; then  he 
gave  the  military  salute. 

“ Respect  for  the  despatch,”  he  said ; “ it  comes 
from  the  Provisional  Government.” 

“ Give  it  to  me,”  said  Jean  Valjean. 

Gavroche  held  the  paper  above  his  head. 

“You  must  not  imagine  that  it  is  a loveJetter, 
though  it  is  for  a woman ; it  is  for  the  people ; we 
are  fighting,  and  we  respect  the  sex ; we  are  not  like 
people  in  the  world  of  fashion,  where  there  are  lions 
that  send  poulets  to  camels.” 

“ Give  it  to  me.’"^^ 

“ After  all,”  Gav^che  continued,  “ you  look  like 
an  honest  man.” 

“ Make  haste.” 

“ Here  it  is.” 

And  he  handed  the  paper  to  Jean  Valjean. 

“ And  make  haste.  Monsieur  Chose,  since  Mam- 
selle  Chosette  is  waiting.” 


THE  GAMIN  THE  ENEMY  OF  LAMPS.  511 


I Gavroche  felt  pleased  at  having  made  this  pun. 
Jean  Valjean  added, — 

“ Must  the  answer  be  taken  to  St.  IMerry  ? ” 

“ You  would  make  in  that  way,”  Gavroclie  ex- 
claimed, “one  of  those  pastries  vulgarly  called  bri- 
oches [blunders].  That  letter  comes  from  the  barricade 
in  the  Rue  de  la  Chanvrerie,  and  I am  going  back  to 
it.  Good-night,  citiagn?^ 

This  said,  Gavroche  went  away,  or,  to  speak  more 
correctly,  resumed  his  birdlike  flight  to  the  spot 
whence  he  had  escaped.  He  plunged  again  into  the 
darkness,  as  if  there  were  a hole  there,  with  the 
rigid  rapidity  of  a projectile  : the  lane  of  rHomine 
Arm^  became  once  again  silent  and  solitary.  In  a 
twinkling,  this  strange  lad,  who  had  shadows  and 
dreams  within  him,  buried  himself  in  the  gloom  of 
these  rows  of  black  houses,  and  was  lost  in  it  like 
smoke  in  darkness,  and  it  might  have  been  fancied 
that  he  ^vas  dispersed,  had  vanished,  had  not,  a few 
minutes  after  his  disappearance,  a noisy  breakage  of 
glass,  and  the  splendid  echo  of  a lamp  falling  on  the 
pavement,  suddenly  reawakened  the  indignant  citi- 
zens. It  was  Ga\Toche  passing  along  the  Rue  de 
Chaume. 


CHAPTER  III. 

WHILE  COSETTE  AXD  TOUSSAINT  SLEEP. 

Jean  Valjean  re-entered  with  Marius’s  letter : 
he  groped  his  way  up-stairs,  pleased  with  the  dark- 
ness like  an  owl  that  holds  its  prey,  gently  opened 
and  closed  the  door,  listened  whether  he  could 
hear  any  sound,  convinced  himself  that  Cosette  and 
Toussaint  were,  according  to  all  appearances,  asleep, 
and  plunged  into  the  Fumade  lighting-bottle  three 
or  four  matches  before  he  could  procure  a spark, 
for  his  hand  trembled  so,  as  what  he  had  just 
done  was  a robbery.  At  last  his  candle  was  lit,  he 
sat  down  at  the  table,  opened  the  letter,  and  read, 
^n  such  violent  emotions  men  do  not  read, 
hurl  down,  so  to  speak,  the  paper  they  hold,  cliitcli 
it  like  a victim,  crumple  it,  bury  in  it  the  nails  of 
their  fury  or  delight,  they  run  to  the  end,  they 
dash  at  the  beginning  ; the  attention  is  feverish, 
it  understands  the  essential  facts,  it  seizes  on  one 
point,  and  all  the  rest  disappear^  In  the  note 
from  Marius  to  Cosette  Jean  Va^ean  only  saw  these 
Avords,  — 

“ I die  ; when  you  read  this  my  soul  will  be  near 
you. 


WHILE  COSETTE  AND  TOUSSAHS'T  SLEEP.  513 


111  the  prcseuce  of  this  line  he  felt  a horrible  be- 
dazzlement ; he  remained  for  a moment  as  if  crushed 
by  the  change  of  emotion  which  took  place  in  him. 
He  gazed  at  Marius’s  letter  with  a species  of  drunken 
amazement,  he  had  before  his  eyes,  this  splendor,  — 
the  death  of  the  hated  being.  [IHe.uttered  a frightful 
cry  of  internal  joy.  So  all  was  over,  and  the  denoue- 
ment arrived  more  quickly  than  he  could  have  dared 
to  hope.  The  being  that  encumbered  his  destiny 
was  disappearing ; he  went  away  of  his  own  accord, 
freely  and  willingly,  without  his  doing  anything  in 
the  matter,  without  any  fault  on  the  part  of  him,  Jean 
Valjean ; “ that  man  ” was  going  to  die,  perhaps  was 
already  dead.  Here  his  fever  made  its  calculations  ; 

“ No,  he  is  not  yet  dead.  The  letter  was  evidently 
written  to  be  read  by  Cosette  on  the  next  morning : 
since  the  two  volleys  he  had  heard  between  eleven 
o’clock  and  midnight  nothing  had  occurred ; the  bar- 
ricade would  not  be  seriously  attacked  till  daybreak  ; 
but  no  matter,  from  the  moment  when  ' that  man  ’ is 
mixed  up  in  this  war,  he  is  lost,  he  is  caught  in  the 
cog-wheels.”  Jean  Yaljean  felt  himself  delivered; 
he  was  goin^  to  find  himself  once  more  alone  with 
Cosette ; the  rivalry  ceased  and  the  future  began 
again.  He  need  only  keep  the  note  in  his  pocket, 
and  Cosette  would  never  know  what  had  become  of 
“ that  man ; ” “I  have  only  to  let  things  take  their 
course.  That  man  cannot  escape,  and  if  he  is  not 
dead  yet,  it  is  certain  that  he  is  going  to  die.  What 
happiness ! ” All  this  said  internally,  he  became 
gloomy : he  went  down  and  aroused  the  porter.  7 
About  an  hour  later  Jean  Yaljean  left  the  house  in 
VOL.  IV.  33 


514 


THE  HUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


the  uniform  of  a National  Guard  and  armed.  phe 
porter  had  easily  obtained  for  him  in  the  neighbor- 
hood the  articles  to  complete  liis  equipment"^'  he  had 
a loaded  musket  and  a full  cartouche-box.  He  pro- 
ceeded in  the  direction  of  the  markets. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


gavroche’s  excess  of  zeal. 

Ix  the  mean  while  an  aclventui’e  had  happened 
to  Ga\Toche ; after  conscientiously  stoning  the  lamp 
in  the  Rue  du  Chaume,  he  approached  the  Rue  des 
Vieilles  Haudriettes,  and  not  seeing  “ a cat  ” there, 
found  the  opportunity  excellent  for  striking  up  a song 
at  the  full  pitch  of  his  lungs.  His  march,  far  from 
being  checked  by  the  singing,  became  accelerated, 
and  he  sowed  along  the  sleeping  or  terrified  houses 
the  following  incendiary  verses  : — 

“L’liiseau  medit  dans  les  charmilles, 

Et  pretend  qu’  luer  Atala 
Avec  un  Eusse  s’en  alia. 

Ou  vont  les  belles  filles, 

Lon  la. 

“Mon  ami  Pierrot,  tu  babbles, 

Parce  que  I’autre  jour  Mila 
Cogna  sa  vitre,  et  m’appela. 

Oil  vont  les  belles  filles, 

Lon  la. 

“Les  drolesses  sont  fort  gentilles, 

Lear  poison  qui  m’ensorcela 
Griserait  Monsieur  Orfila. 

Ou  vont  les  belles  filles, 

Lon  la. 


516 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


J’aime  I’amour  et  scs  bisWlles, 

J’aime  Agne.'s,  j’aime  Pamela, 

• Lise  en  m’allnmant  se  brula. 

Oil  vont  les  belles  filles, 

Lon  la. 

Jadis,  quand  je  vis  les  mantilles 
De  Suzette  et  de  Zeila, 

Mon  ame  a leurs  plis  se  inela. 

Oil  vont  les  belles  filles, 

Lon  la. 

“ Amour,  quand,  dans  I’ombre  ou  tu  brilles, 
Tu  coiffes  de  roses  Lola, 

Je  me  damnerais  pour  cela. 

Oil  vont  les  belles  filles, 

Lon  la. 

' "Jeanne,  a ton  miroir  tu  t’habilles  ! 

Mon  coeur  nn  bean  jour  s’envola; 

Je  crois  que  e’est  Jeanne  qui  I’a. 

Oil  vont  les  belles  filles, 

Lon  la. 

“ Le  soir,  en  sortant  des  quadrilles, 

Je  montre  aux  etoiles  Stella, 

Et  je  leur  dis : ‘ Regardez-la.’ 

Oil  vont  les  belles  filles, 

Lon  la.” 


Gavroche,  while  singing,  was  lavish  of  his  panto- 
mime, for  gesture  is  the  mainstay  of  a chorus.  His 
faee,  an  inexhaustible  repertory  of  masks,  made  grim- 
aces more  convulsive  and  more  fantastic  than  the 
mouths  of  a torn  sheet  in  a stiff  breeze.  Unluckily, 
as  he  was  alone  and  in  the  dark,  this  was  neither 


GAVROCHE’S  EXCESS  OF  ZEAL. 


517 


seen  nor  ^^sible.  INIuch  wealth  is  lost  in  this  way. 
Suddenly  he  stopped  short. 

“ We  must  interrupt  the  romance,”  he  said. 

His  catlike  eye  had  just  distinguished  inside  a 
gateway  what  is  called  in  painting  an  ensemble,  that 
is  to  say,  a being  and  a thing ; the  thing  was  a hand- 
cart, the  being  an  Auvergnat  sleeping  inside  it.  The 
shafts  of  the  cart  were  upon  the  pavement,  and  the 
Auvergnat’s  head  leaned  on  the  backboard  of  the 
truck.  His  body  lay  along  this  inclined  plane,  and 
his  feet  touched  the  ground.  Gavroche,  with  his  ex- 
perience of  the  things  of  this  world,  recognized  a 
drunkard  : it  was  some  street-corner  porter  who  had 
drunk  too  much  and  was  sleeping  too  much. 

“ Such  is  the  use,”  Gavroche  thought,  “ to  which 
summer  nights  may  be  turned.  The  Auvergnat  sleeps 
in  his  truck.  I take  the  truck  for  the  republic,  and 
leave  the  Auvergnat  for  the  monarchy.” 

His  mind  had  just  been  illumined  by  this  flash. 

“ That  truck  would  be  famous  on  our  barricade  ! ” 
The  Auvergnat  was  snoring.  Gavroche  gently 
pulled  the  truck  behind  and  the  Auvergnat  in  front, 
that  is  to  say,  by  the  feet,  and  in  a second  the  porter 
was  lying  imperturbably  flat  on  the  pavement.  The 
truck  was  liberated.  Gavroche,  accustomed  con- 
stantly to  face  unexpected  events,  had  always  every- 
thing about  him.  He  felt  in  one  of  his  pockets  and 
pulled  out  a scrap  of  paper  and  a piece  of  red  pencil 
stolen  from  some  carpenter.  He  wrote 

B^publique  Francaise 
Received  this  truck. 


518 


THE  EUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


And  he  signed,  Gavkoche. 

This  done,  he  placed  the  paper  in  the  snoring 
porter’s  velvet  waistcoat  pocket,  seized  the  hand- 
cart, and  started  in  the  direction  of  the  markets, 
thrusting  the  truck  before  him  at  a gallop  with  a 
glorious  triumphal  row.  This  was  dangerous,  for 
there  was  a post  at  the  Royal  Printing  Office,  and 
Gavroche  did  not  think  of  that.  This  post  was 
held  by  suburban  National  Guards  ; a certain 
amount  of  alarm  was  beginning  to  arouse  the 
squad,  and  heads  were  raised  in  the  guard-beds. 
Two  lamps  broken  so  shortly  after  each  other,  and 
this  singing  at  the  pitch  of  the  lungs,  were  a good 
deal  for  these  cowardly  streets,  which  like  to  go  to 
bed  at  sunset,  and  put  the  extinguisher  on  their 
candle  at  so  early  an  hour.  For  an  hour  past  the 
gamin  had  been  making  in  this  peaceful  district 
the  noise  of  a fly  in  a bottle.  The  suburban  ser- 
geant listened  and  waited,  for  he  was  a prudent 
man.  The  wild  rolling  of  the  truck  filled  up  the 
measure  of  possible  awaiting,  and  determined  the 
sergeant  to  attempt  a reconnoisance. 

“ There  must  be  a whole  band  of  them,”  he  said, 
“ so  we  will  advance  gently.” 

It  was  clear  that  the  hydra  of  anarchy  had  emerged 
from  its  box,  and  was  playing  the  deuce  in  the  quar- 
ter, so  the  sergeant  ventured  out  of  the  guard-house 
on  tiptoe.  All  at  once,  Gavroche,  pushing  his  truck, 
found  himself,  just  as  he  was  turning  out  of  the  Rue 
des  Vieilles  Haudriettes,  face  to  face  with  a uniform, 
a shako,  a pompon,  and  a musket.  For  the  second 
time  he  stopped  short. 


GAVROCHE’S  EXCESS  OF  ZEAL. 


519 


“ Hilloh ! ” he  said,  “ it ’s  he.  Good-day,  public 
order.” 

Gavroche’s  surprises  were  short  and  rapidly 
thawed. 

“Where  are  you  going,  scamp?”  the  sergeant 
cried. 

“ Citizen,”  said  Gavroche,  “ I have  not  yet  called 
you  bourgeois,  so  why  do  you  insult  me  ? ” 

“ Where  are  you  going,  scoundrel  ? ” 

“ Sir,”  Gavroche  continued,  “ it  is  possible  that  you 
were  a man  of  sense  yesterday,  but  you  must  have 
sent  in  your  resignation  this  morning.” 

“ I ask  you  where  you  are  going,  villain  ? ” 

Gavroche  answered,  — 

“You  speak  politely.  Really,  no  one  would  fancy 
you  that  age.  You  ought  to  sell  your  hair  at  one 
hundred  francs  apiece,  and  that  would  bring  you  in 
five  hundred  francs.” 

“ Where  are  you  going,  where  are  you  going, 
where  are  you  going,  bandit  ? ” 

Gavroche  retorted,  — 

“ Those  are  ugly  words.  The  first  time  they  give 
you  the  breast  they  ought  to  wash  your  mouth  out 
better.” 

The  sergeant  levelled  his  bayonet. 

“ Will  you  tell  me  where  you  are  going  or  not, 
wretch  ? ” 

“ Wy  general,”  said  Gawoche,  “ I am  going  to  fetch 
the  doctor  for  my  w'ife,  who  is  taken  in  labor.” 

“ To  arras  ! ” the  sergeant  shouted. 

It  is  the  masterpiece  of  powerful  minds  to  save 
themselves  by  wdiat  has  ruined  them ; and  Gavroche 


520 


THE  RUE  ST.  DENIS  EPIC. 


measured  the  whole  situation  at  a glance.  It  was  the 
truck  that  had  compromised  him,  and  so  the  truck 
must  now  protect  him.  At  the  moment  when  the 
sergeant  was  going  to  rush  on  Gavroche,  the  truck, 
converted  into  a projectile  and  launched  at  full  speed, 
rolled  upon  him  furiously,  and  the  sergeant,  struck  in 
the  stomach,  fell  back  into  the  gutter,  while  his 
musket  was  discharged  in  the  air.  On  hearing  their 
sergeant’s  cry,  the  guard  hurried  forth  pell-mell ; the 
shot  produced  a general  firing  at  random,  after  which 
the  guns  were  reloaded,  and  they  began  again.  This 
blindman’s-buff  firing  lasted  a good  quarter  of  an 
hour,  and  killed  sundry  panes  of  glass.  In  the  mean 
while,  Gavroche,  who  had  turned  back,  stopped  five 
or  six  streets  off,  and  sat  down  panting  on  the  bench 
at  the  corner  of  the  Enfants  Rouges,  and  listened. 
After  breathing  for  a few  minutes,  he  turned  in  the 
direction  where  the  musketry  was  raging,  raised  his 
left  hand  to  the  level  of  his  nose,  and  thrust  it  out 
thrice,  while  striking  the  back  of  his  head  with  his 
right  hand,  — a sovereign  gesture,  in  which  the  Pari- 
sian gamins  have  condensed  French  irony,  and  which 
is  evidently  effective,  as  it  has  already  lasted  more 
than  half  a century.  This  gayety  was  troubled  by  a 
bitter  reffection. 

“ Yes,”  he  said,  “ I am  delighted,  I overffow 
with  joy,  I crack  my  sides,  but  I am  losing  my 
way,  and  shall  be  obliged  to  steer  a roundabout 
course.  I only  hope  I shall  reach  the  barricade 
betimes.” 

After  saying  this  he  ran  off  again,  and  while  run- 
ning asked  himself,  “ Where  was  I ? ” and  he  began 


GAVEOCHE’S  EXCESS  OF  ZEAL. 


521 


his  song  again,  which  gradually  died  out  in  the  dark- 
ness of  the  streets. 

“ Mais  il  reste  encor  des  bastilles, 

Et  je  vais  mettre  le  liola 
Dans  I’ordre  public  que  voila. 

Ou  vont  les  belles  filles, 

Lon  la. 

‘‘  Quelqu’un  yeut-il  joner  aux  quilles  ? 

Tout  I'ancien  monde  s’ecroula, 

Quand  la  grosse  boule  roula. 

Ou  vont  les  belles  filles, 

Lon  la. 

“ Vieux  bon  peuple,  a coups  de  bequilles, 

Cassons  ce  Louvre  ou  s’etala 
La  inonarcbie  en  falbala. 

Oil  vont  les  belles  filles, 

Lon  la. 

“ Nous  en  avons  force  les  grilles, 

Le  roi  Charles-Dix  ce  jour-la 
Tenait  inal,  et  se  decolla. 

Oil  vont  les  belles  filles, 

Lon  la.” 


The  turn-out  of  the  Guard  produced  some  results, 
for  a truck  was  captured  and  the  drunkard  made  pris- 
oner. The  first  was  placed  in  the  publie  pound,  while 
the  second  was  afterwards  brought  before  a court- 
martial  as  an  accomplice.  The  public  minister  of 
that  day  displayed  in  this  circumstanee  his  indefati- 
gable zeal  in  the  defence  of  society.  Gavroche’s 
adventure,  which  has  remained  as  a tradition  in 


522  THE  RUE  ST,  DENIS  ERIC. 

tlie  Temple  quarter,  is  one  of  the  most  terrible 
reminiscences  of  the  old  bourgeois  of  the  Marais, 
and  is  entitled  in  their  memory,  — “ The  night 
attack  on  the  guard-house  of  the  Royal  Printing 
' Office.” 

t.  . 


Date  Due 

1 

Mayie’SS') 

1 

4r 

fVAy'’,n 

\ 

i 

1" 

4UG5  ’45 

f/AR  2 2 '51 

- 

I 


/ 


